Of the Cross
by Rocks-a-Lot-of-PolkaDots
Summary: Everyone thought the old Delacroix house was abandoned. That is, until the bus stops in front of it and mysterious new girl, Clara, steps on. From the moment they set eyes on her, they knew trouble was brewing. With a dark glint in her eyes and a distaste for werewolves, the pack might be in for more than they can handle. Mostly Isaac, Lydia, OC, Scott, and Stiles.
1. Shivers

**Hi everyone, I'm back with a new story! **

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**Chapter 1: Shivers**

The sudden beeping of Scott's alarm rang through his ears causing him to jerk up in his bed, bumping his head on the headboard on the way up. In frustration he placed his hand on the back of his head, rubbing the sore spot. He hadn't hit his head that badly but his extra strong senses intensified the pain. That's one thing people seemed to overlook with werewolves; even though they healed, the pain was more intense. Every little brush against his skin was magnified ten fold, which worked out in some situations but was a bitch in others. He had learned to control his senses and ignore the pain, but on days like this it was tough. Scott was not a morning person and the thought of having to get out of bed on this cold, damp Wednesday almost hurt worse than the bump to his head.

With a heavy sigh he slowly began to climb out of his bed. He stumbled into his bathroom, peeled off his clothes and stepped into the warm fountain of water that poured out of the shower. After getting clean, he threw on the most presentable clothes he could find on his floor and headed downstairs to the kitchen. After descending the stairs he turned the corner into the kitchen and jumped at what he saw in front of him.

"What the hell, Stiles," he said as he entered the room. His best friend sat at his kitchen table, eating from a large bowl of cereal as if he lived there. "Can't you eat at your own house."

"Well, single dad's aren't exactly the best when it comes to grocery shopping," Stiles replied. "Your mom buys way better food."

"How did you even get in here?" Scott asked. He poured himself a bowl of cereal and sat down next to Stiles.

"Someone's a grumpy little wolf today," Stiles mocked, prompting Scott to give him a sharp look and a faint growl. "Ok, fine, I took the spare key your mom leaves in the planter by the door. I figured I was doing her a favor, considering there's all kinds of crazy shit running around Beacon Hills."

"Yeah, I'm well aware," Scott said with a mouthful of cereal. "Do you mind if we leave for school early today? I wanted to talk to coach before class."

"Right, school," Stiles sighed. "Why don't we just take Wednesday off, like French kids?"

"Because we're not in France," Scott replied.

"Thanks for the update," Stiles added sarcastically, prompting another annoyed look from his friend.

The two boys made their way out of the quaint house and into the driveway. The light rain splashed their heads as they got into the worn-in Jeep. The fog was thick and caused what was twenty feet in front of them to disappear. Stiles slid the keys into the ignition and began to turn them as he had hundreds of times before. But this time instead of bringing the rusty old car to life, it simply sputtered and died out. He tried again and again, but the car would not turn on.

"Are you kidding me? You were fine five minutes ago!" Stiles shouted as he threw his hands up in frustration. He sighed loudly and turned to Scott. "Look's like we're taking the bus today."

"Great." Scott muttered under his breath.

Stiles got out of the car and slammed the door. They began to run down the street towards the bus stop, rain dripping down on their hoods as they went. The two boys barely reached the stop in time for the bus to pull up in front of them. The driver opened the door and they climbed up the stairs and onto the bus. Since anyone in their grade with a license or a shred of dignity avoided the bus at all costs they didn't recognize many of the faces staring back at them. It had been a long time since either of them had ridden the bus and it brought back memories of being pushed around by the older kids who tossed their books down the aisle or worse, out the window.

"This is going to be fun," Stiles said as they began to walk towards the back of the bus, looking for an empty seat. Scott managed to find the eyes of the one person he recognized on board. He was a tall and handsome boy who sat next to a much smaller, nerdy boy with glasses and bluntly cut red hair. The tall boy leaned towards the other boy and began to speak.

"You might want to move," he said.

"Why?" the red haired boy asked. "This is my seat. I always sit here."

"Let me rephrase this," the boy began with a devilish smirk on his face and a wild look in his eye. "If you don't move, I'm going to shove those glasses down your throat." Without hesitation the younger boy quickly got up and moved to another seat near the back of the bus. "Freshman," he sighed to himself as he watched the boy scurry away. Then he looked up and made eye contact with Scott, signaling that the seat was free for him.

Scott approached the seat and sat down, Stiles close behind him. Since it was only two per seat, Stiles had no choice but to sit one row back. He leaned over the back of the row his friends shared in front of him so he could still be part of the conversation.

"So Lahey, you're terrorizing freshman now?" Stiles snarked.

"I wouldn't say terrorizing. Just keeping them in line," Isaac retorted, giving a sideways glance at the boy who was hovering over his shoulder. Ever since his abusive father died Isaac Lahey had become known for his cockiness and aggressive way of handling things. He was a good kid at heart but he definitely needed some fine tuning.

"Do you always ride the bus?" Scott asked Isaac.

"Only when my chauffeur is out of town," Isaac said sarcastically.

"I remember when we used to ride this bus everyday," Stiles said. "Damn, that really sucked. So glad I have a car now." Isaac turned his head towards the chatty boy and gave him another intense look. "Not that riding the bus is that bad," Stiles added quickly.

The bus traveled along the road for a few minutes until it came to a fork. At this point the road diverged into two parts; on one side the busy street continued and on the other it turned into a narrow dirt road. They passed several small, worn down houses that were quite different from the massive suburban paradises that characterized Beacon Hills. Scott began to remember what it was like riding this route everyday. He would always feel uncomfortable until they reached the end of the neighborhood where the road became paved again and the houses began to look run-down houses always used to give him the creeps. No one really knew anybody that lived in them. They were abandoned for the most part but there were rumors that strange people still occupied some of them. And then there was the creepiest house of them all: the Delacroix House.

The Delacroix House stood tall amongst the trees that surrounded it, almost blocking it out of sight. The mass of trees obstructed the light of the sun, causing perpetual darkness to fall on the house. The yard was covered in dead flowers, fallen branches and eroded bricks that once paved it. The house was old and victorian in style, which only added to the notion that it was haunted. The most likely lead paint was peeling off and the windows were covered in a dirty film. No one had lived there for decades, and it was rumored that the house was the sight of terrible murders a few decades ago.

"Why don't they just bulldoze this place?" Scott wondered aloud. He had always hated the sight of the house and did not like being reminded of it. "It's not like anyone's ever going to live there."

"I heard someone does live there," Isaac said.

"No way," Stiles replied. "Its been abandoned for years. And besides, who could live in a house that was completely dilapidated...oh yeah." He trailed off, remembering a certain werewolf who spent a great deal of time in derelict buildings.

"My dad used to tell me this story of a crazy old hag who lives there," Isaac began. "And every year kids come snooping around her house to see if its haunted and then she-"

"Bakes them into pies?" Stiles quipped.

"No I think she just kills them," Isaac continued.

"Yeah, I don't know what it is but something about that sounds completely made up to scare children," Stiles added.

"I didn't say it was true, smart ass," Isaac retorted.

"Well, I know its not because me and Scott have been in there," Stiles said.

"Really," Isaac said dubiously.

"Yes," Stiles replied. "Haven't we, Scott."

"Oh yeah, we did, didn't we," Scott said. His mind began to wander off and he thought back to the night he and Stiles went into the Delacroix house. It was definitely one of the most terrifying nights of his pre-werewolf life. It ended with Stiles collapsing after a panic attack and Scott having to drag him out of the creepy house. They didn't even make it past the foyer. Events which, naturally, were left out when telling the story to Isaac.

Scott snapped out of the memory he was lost in and began to take note of what was going on around him again. "Why are we stopping?" he asked. In years of riding this bus it had never once stopped at this house. He clearly was not the only one confused by what was happening, as the other students were asking similar questions. The fog that day was so thick he could barely see what was happening outside the window. He thought he saw something move out of the house and towards the bus, but he could not be sure. With a creek the doors to the bus opened and a burst of cold air rushed inside, giving everyone shivers. All of the students fell silent as they watched what happened next.

A pale girl with big, light green eyes had boarded the bus. She had long, mousy-brown hair that was parted in the middle and lay strewn down her shoulders and back. Her face was soft and round, almost like a doll's. She had a thin body and long limbs that made her appear much taller than she was. She was dressed completely in black except for the rounded, white lace collar that laid across her neck. Her ankle-high black boots clicked against the floor as she moved down the bus. She was effortlessly poised and would have looked angelic if it were not for the dark glint in her eyes. By this point everyone was staring at her and she either did not notice or did not care. She glided down the isles like a shadow and kept her eyes directly in front of her, not looking at any of the students she passed. That was until she neared the row where Scott and Isaac sat. She gave them each a cold look that sent an eerie chill over them and then turned her gaze back towards the aisle. Then she found an empty seat near the back of the bus and sat down, crosse legged and stony faced. The bus began to move again, heading down its usual route as if nothing had happened.

"What the hell?" Stiles whispered to the boys in front of him.

"I told you someone lived there," Isaac said smugly.

"Why did she look at us like that," Scott wondered aloud.

"Like what?" Stiles asked.

"Wait, you didn't see that?" Scott said.

"She completely gave us the death stare," Isaac stated.

"Didn't see it," Stiles answered. "She is kinda creepy."

"She's kind of hot though," Isaac said, causing the other two boys to give him a look. "What?"

"You must have a collection of very weird and specific magazines under you bed," Stiles mocked, prompting a small growl from the other boy.

"There's definitely something different about her," Scott said. "I can feel it. We should get to know her."

"Gladly," Isaac replied, a smirk spreading across his face.

"Calm down wolf boy," Scott said. "We just need to find out what her deal is, you know. Make sure she isn't the bad kind of different."

After a few minutes the bus finally pulled into the school's parking lot. The students emptied out of the bus row after row and made their way up the familiar steps of the school. Word about the new girl was spreading fast. Yet, she still hadn't spoken to anyone and no one knew her name or grade.

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The girl walked down the hallway towards the front office. She quietly strolled into the room and approached the front desk. The young woman sitting behind the desk was on the phone and signaled to her that she would be with her soon. Once she hung up the phone she smiled sweetly at the girl and began to speak.

"May I help you?" she asked, looking at the girl in front of her.

"Yes," the girl said. "I'm new."

"Oh right," the woman said, reaching down and pulling out a beige folder. She also pulled out a stack of textbooks from under the desk. "You must be Clara De-"

"Delacroix," the girl finished, cutting the woman off before she could butcher her name. The woman handed her the books and the folder, which Clara began to look through. It contained her class schedule, her locker number and a map of the school. "Thanks," she said as she began to walk away. She wasn't much for small talk and preferred to figure things out herself. Clara had not been to a normal school since she was a child. She had been home schooled by her grandmother whom she lived with. They were solitary people and did not like when others encroached on their privacy, which happened a lot when curious kids decided to snoop around their house. They had their own special way of dealing with those types of people. The thought of going to a school full of normal kids was not ideal. She knew everyone was going to talk about her. About how mysterious and weird they thought she was. She didn't really care what other people thought of her. She was mysterious and weird. But she could do things most of these students couldn't dream of.

Clara continued to walk down the hallway, looking for her locker. The school was a complete maze but she managed to find the one that belonged to her. She attempted to open it but the lock wouldn't budge. She tried again and again and became frustrated that a piece of metal was beating her.

"You need help?" a male voice called out from behind her. Clara wasn't much for friendly gestures but she needed to get into her locker.

"Sure," Clara said reluctantly, moving aside to let the boy help her. She was surprised to see it was one of the boys from the bus. She wondered why someone like him would approach her after the warning look she gave him earlier.

"My name's Scott," the boy said.

"Clara," she replied as she watched him effortlessly toy with the lock.

"What brings you to Beacon Hills?" Scott asked as he opened the locker door for her and stepped aside.

"I've always been here," Clara said coldly as she shoved the massive load of textbooks into her locker.

"In the Delacroix house?" he asked.

"Is that what you call it?" Clara replied.

"We always thought no one lived there,"

"We're just private people," she said, trying to limit the small talk.

"And that it was haunted," the boy added, a goofy smile on his face.

"Who says its not?" she said with a serious look on hers. A moment of uncomfortable silence passed, but to Clara's dismay the boy started speaking again.

"So, do you know anyone here?" he asked.

"Not really," she responded. She didn't know any of the other students, but she wasn't really looking for a best buddy.

"You should eat lunch with us," the boy said.

"I don't know about that," Clara stated.

"Don't worry, it won't be just guys," the boy continued. "There's some girls that sit with us too. There pretty friendly. Well, one of them is."

"That sounds great and all but my kind doesn't really get along with yours," she said, causing a confused and worried look to spread across the boys face. She began to walk away, but he quickly caught up with her.

"What do you mean?" he asked, tying not to give himself away.

"Werewolves," she stated bluntly. "I don't like them."

Alarmed, Scott made a gesture for her to keep her voice down as he pulled her over to the side of the hallway. "How did you know that?" he asked.

"I have my ways," she said. "And you smell of wolf."

"I don't smell," Scott said defensively. "Who else do you know about?"

"Well, your friend on the bus for starters," she said. "What was his name, Ivan?"

"Isaac," Scott corrected. "So what, you're a hunter?" he said, prompting the girl to release a small laugh.

"My kind doesn't really get along with them either," she scoffed.

"What exactly is your kind?" Scott asked.

"You really don't know," Clara said, raising her eyebrows at the boy as she peered into his naive face. After a moment she began to walk again, the boy still trailing close behind her. "Well, I figured you out on my own, I don't think it would really be fair if I just told you."

"I'll figure it out," Scott replied. He was thrown off by how frank she was being about all of this.

"You can try," she said condescendingly. "You're not exactly the puzzle solving type are you?"

"How would you know that?" Scott asked, half offended and half shocked at her ability to see through him so easily.

"Like I said," she answered. "I have my ways. Now if you don't mind I have to get to French."

Scott watched her dumbfounded as she walked away. How did she know so much already? And what was she? The one thing he did know was that he had to tell Stiles immediately.

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	2. Werecist

**Hi everyone! Thanks so much for giving this a chance. I promise it will get really good! **

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**Chapter 2: Werecist**

It was now time for Econ, which meant Scott finally had a chance to talk to Stiles about his exchange with the mysterious new girl, Clara. He almost didn't know where to begin. He sat impatiently in his seat while he waited for Stiles to get to class. He watched as his friend entered the room and sat down in the seat next to him.

"You have that look on your face like you want to tell me something," Stiles said.

"You know the new girl?"

"No, I forgot about her in the last few hours," Stiles answered sarcastically.

"Well, she knows," Scott stated.

"Knows what?" Stiles replied "Oh! You mean she knows. Like about that thing..."

"Yes," Scott said, frustrated. "I don't know how but she does. She knows about me and Isaac. I don't think she knows about anyone else yet but she figured us out without even trying."

"This is not good," Stiles added.

"What's not good?" Coach Finstock asked. His arms were folded and he had his usual crazy look in his eyes.

"Uh, the national debt," Stiles answered. "It's really bad."

"Shut it Stilinski!" Coach yelled. "If I hear you or McCall one more time you're gonna be target practice for the rest of the season." He then turned back around to the black board and continued to write, mumbling to himself like a crazy person.

Scott took out his notebook and began to write. After scribbling something down, he tore out the piece of paper and handed it to Stiles who opened it and began to read.

We need to figure out what she is and how she knows everything.

Stiles took out a pen and wrote his response. Then he passed the note back to Scott.

How do you know she is anything?

Because she told me. Said I had to figure it out myself if I wanted to know.

Witch? Stiles wrote.

Maybe, if those even exist.

As long as she's not a Kanima I'm game.

The bell rang dismissing class and the two boys exited as quickly as they could. They walked down the hallway towards their lockers to prepare for their next class.

"We need to get close to her," Stiles said. "Then we can figure out what she can do."

"That's going to be a problem," Scott said. "She doesn't seem to like werewolves very much."

"She's werecist?" Stiles asked, slightly amused by his turn of phrase.

"Pretty much," Scott replied.

"Then I guess we have to follow her," Stiles said.

"I don't know how I feel about stalking," Scott said.

"It's not stalking if it's for the good of mankind," Stiles began. "She could be a monster. Sure she looks harmless, but it's always the nice ones, isn't it?"

"I wouldn't exactly call her nice," Scott answered. "We need to be really careful with this, ok?"

Stiles nodded his head in agreement as they went their separate ways to their next classes.

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So far Clara's first day at Beacon Hills was moving along at a painfully slow pace. She was not used to bells telling her when she could come and go or having to ask permission to speak. Everything was new to her and it made her uncomfortable. With the exception of the conversation with Scott, she had managed to avoid speaking to anyone else. People had been whispering about her all day but she just ignored it. It was almost entertaining to hear the wild stories that were being spread about her, the mysterious girl who seemed to pop out of thin air.

It was now time for lunch, the period she was least excited about. There were so many people in one room, it made her uneasy. She would have preferred to eat lunch alone as she had not had one moment to herself all day, but there was no such luck. After buying her food she found an empty table and proceeded to sit down. From across the room she could see the werewolf Scott and his strange friend. When she met their eyes they quickly looked away, as if they had not been watching her.

Scott and Stiles were in fact watching her. Things had already gotten off to a weird start between them and they needed to know if she was a threat or not. She looked innocent but they were afraid of what she could be capable of.

"I think she saw us," Stiles said.

"You think?" Scott replied sarcastically.

"Look at her," Stiles began. "Sitting there, being all evil and...stuff."

"She's just eating," Scott stated.

"Look now," Stiles said. "She's reading a book. Who reads books at lunch? Crazy people."

"You need to calm down," Scott said. "Oh no."

"Oh no what?" Stiles asked, excited. Scott turned Stiles' attention to what he had seen across the room. Isaac was walking intently towards the table Clara sat at. "Is he going to do something stupid?"

"Probably," Scott said bluntly. He caught Isaac's eye from across the room and whispered so no one else would hear but him. "What are you doing?" He made a gesture at the boy to stop what he was doing, but Isaac proceeded anyway.

"Don't cock block me McCall," Isaac snapped just before leaning down towards Clara. "Is this chair taken," he asked.

"No," Clara said, not bothering to look up from her book. After a moment passed she was shocked to see that the person who stood behind her was now sitting right beside her. She looked up to see a pair of big, blue eyes staring down at her. She recognized the boy as being Isaac, the other werewolf from before. She also noticed the lacrosse stick peeking out of his bag. He must think he's some big time jock, Clara thought to herself. He was cute, she had to admit, but he was a werewolf. He may as well have been chopped liver to her. "I didn't realize you were actually going to sit down."

"I'm Isaac," he said confidently.

"I'm not interested," she frostily replied.

"Oh, come on" he continued in a smooth voice. "You could at least tell me your name. I told you mine."

"It's Clara," she sighed with a hint of annoyance.

"What's a girl like you doing sitting by herself," he said with a smirk on his face.

"A girl like me?" Clara asked, raising her eyebrows in suspicion. Did he know something? Or was he just trying to be cute?

"You know what I mean," Isaac said, brushing a loose strand of hair out of her face and tucking it behind her ear. She slapped his hand away from her face, completely in shock that a werewolf would be flirting with her. She wondered what he was playing at. "You're feisty," he continued, leaning closer to her ear. "I like that," he added in a whisper.

"I don't understand what you're doing," she replied, pulling her face away.

"I'm just trying to get to know you," he said. "You're new, why don't I give you a tour of the school?"

"I have a map," Clara retorted.

"I think I can show you more than that map can," he said seductively, placing his hand on her thigh. Clara was not amused by his forwardness. She grabbed his hand firmly and looked him dead in the eyes. The moment her skin touched his, he began to feel the most painful sensation spread throughout his body. It felt like something was clawing at him, burrowing its way into his skin. He groaned in agony as he looked at the girl with pleading eyes. Her green irises were glow ing and her voice boomed in his ears as she spoke.

"Keep your werewolf paws off of me," she said. She then released his hand and threw it down onto his lap. The pain had finally stopped and her eyes went back to normal. The look on Isaac's face was of complete shock and he was breathing heavily. He looked around the room, everyone was staring at him and whispering. Embarrassed, he got up from the table and began to walk away. He spotted Scott and Stiles and headed towards their table and sat down.

"So everyone saw that," he said.

"Yep," Stiles said, trying his hardest to stop the smirk on his face from spreading. "Rejected."

"Shut up Stilinski," Isaac said.

"You're feisty," Stiles said, mocking the boy's words from earlier. Isaac promptly gave stiles a swift kick to the shins under the table. "Unnecessary!"

"I was trying to warn you bro," Scott said. "There's definitely something up with her. She's-"

"A crazy bitch," Isaac finished.

"I wouldn't put it quite like that," Scott replied. "She doesn't like werewolves, I maybe should have mentioned that sooner."

"You think?" Isaac replied.

"What exactly did she do to you?"

"She grabbed my hand and it felt like I was being clawed by razor sharp...claws," Isaac explained. "And when she did it her eyes were glowing."

"Interesting," Scott said.

"Still think she's hot?" Stiles teased, prompting Isaac to kick him under the table again. "Ok, violence not needed!"

"So what do we do?" Isaac asked, turning to Scott.

"I don't know," Scott answered. "We could look through Peter's bestiary and try to find something that matches."

"Yeah, but we don't really have much to go on here, do we?" Stiles said. "I mean, 'causes tingly sensations' isn't exactly a solid piece of evidence."

"Then what do you suppose we do?" Isaac inquired, raising his eyebrows at the boy.

"I say we follow her home and see what kind of witchy stuff she's getting up to," Stiles said.

"I don't know how great of an idea that is," Scott replied, thinking back to the first time they had ventured onto the grounds of the Delacroix house. He'd had nightmares for weeks after.

"Don't be a scaredy wolf," Stiles snarked. "Come on, we have taken on much bigger things than the likes of little miss prissy over there."

"I can't believe this but I'm siding with Stiles," Isaac added.

Scott paused for a moment before he spoke. "Ok, fine" he said. "But we have to be careful."

The boys began to make a plan for the afternoon. They would keep close tabs on Clara for the rest of the day and then sneak over to her house on foot after school.

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**Remember to leave any comments/questions/critiques you may have swimming in that head of yours!**


	3. History

**Hi everyone! This chapter you all get to find out more about our mysterious Clara Delacroix! There's also some hijinks and Hales...**

**Thanks everyone for reading and a big thanks for reviews! Keep them coming :)**

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**Chapter 3: History**

When the final bell of the day rang, Clara was more than ready to escape from the monotony that was public high school. She moved quickly through the throng of students that blocked her path to the bus stop. There were so many students that Clara was constantly being bumped into, which she found to be a great annoyance. She was not a fan of her personal space being violated. She finally made it to the bus and found a seat all to herself. No one dared to sit next to her, not that she minded. Clara looked around the bus and noticed that the werewolf boys from earlier were missing. She took that as a sign that maybe they had wised up and decided to stay away from her.

After what felt like forever the bus finally stopped in front of the Delacroix house. Clara could feel the eyes of the students on her as she sauntered down the aisle and out of the bus. From the corner of her eye she could see the bus drive off down the narrow road until it disappeared from sight. She walked across the unkempt front yard towards the dilapidated house, her boots crushing dead leaves as she went. The door to her home was massive and towered at least three feet over Clara. It was solid wood with a dark finish that made it look as though it was guarding something ominous. Carved into the door were intricate markings that to the untrained eye would simply look like a series of swirls and lines.

Clara placed her right hand on the door and waited patiently. The carvings in the door began to glow with a soft, golden light. She could hear the locks within the door click as they opened for her. Then, without even pushing on it, the door opened with one slow fluid motion. She gracefully stepped over the front mat and into her house.

The interior of the Delacroix house was nothing like the shabby outside. The house had been enchanted to look broken down and squalid to those who were not invited in. But those who could see past the illusion were treated to a marvelous display of design. The tile floors shined bright, reflecting the light of crystal chandeliers that hung high above. The walls were lined with ornate wallpaper and gold framed artwork. There was an eclectic assortment of fascinating objects lined on mantles and tables all throughout the house. The fireplaces filled the rooms with a comfortable blanket of warmth and the smell of rich herbs lingered in the air.

Clara glided down the large hallways and then entered the elaborately decorated dining room where her grandmother spent most of her afternoons. The elder Delacroix sat at a grand table made of solid marble sorting through a box filled with assorted vials. She was much like Clara in the way she was poised and aloof. She had the same glint in her eye that showed there was more to her than looks would allow one to believe. She was beautiful, with a strong face that was almost free of wrinkles or any signs of aging, miraculous considering she was pushing ninety. The long, shiny grey hair that flowed down her back was the only indicator that she was not as young as she appeared.

"How was your first day?" Ms. Delacroix asked, looking up from the vials she was tinkering with.

"Fine," Clara answered unenthusiastically as she sat down at the table. "I still don't understand why you are sending me to public school after all these years."

"Because there are things that even I cannot teach you," her grandmother replied.

"Like what?" Clara demanded. "You've taught me math, science and French, as well as our craft."

"Yes, Clara, but there is more to life than learning from books. Social grace, for example. How to live in the real world with the normal people."

"I don't see why I need to live in the real world now, after a whole life of basically living in secret. This school isn't even safe. It's crawling with werewolves."

"I know," her grandmother replied. "They are an abnormally young pack."

"You knew and you still sent me there?" Clara said, shocked at her grandmother's casual attitude about the matter at hand. "I could have been attacked."

"I know you are able to handle yourself," Ms. Delacroix said. "Your powers will keep you safe if anything were to happen. Not that I anticipate anything should. I hope you are not making enemies, young one."

"I'm not," she responded, leaving out the details of her interaction with the werewolf Scott and his overly confident friend Isaac. "But how am I supposed to coexist with their kind after what they did to us."

"You should steer clear of them, they are dangerous animals who are not to be trusted. I don't need you getting tangled up with their kind."

"Believe me, I won't. I promise."

"Are they aware of what you are?" the elder Delacroix asked.

"No," Clara continued. "They seemed completely oblivious."

"Good. If they bother you, let them know you are one to be feared," her grandmother stated. "Otherwise there should be no problems."

"I will grandmother," Clara answered, then she was dismissed from the room.

Clara drifted up the winding marble staircase and entered her favorite room of the house: the library. It was a grand room with high, sweeping ceilings that were lined with dark, wooden shelves filled with books. Beautiful books with hard leather covers and gold writing on the spines. She sat down on a long bench that was padded with soft, upholstered cushions and placed her school-things on the ground beside her. She reached down into her bag and pulled out the textbooks she had been assigned for her classes. They were brightly colored with big gaudy text, as if they were screaming for the attention of youths. Clara opened one and began to flip through it. The subject matter looked easy enough, like things she had already been taught by her grandmother.

She had not been studying for more than twenty minutes before she was distracted. There was a dull light glowing from an object that stood in the corner opposite of where Clara sat. The object was called a gazer and consisted of a flat piece of crystal formed in the shape of an oval that rested on a three legged stand made of polished stone. Through it Clara could see into the outside world, like an enchanted security camera. Every time it glowed she grew excited by the what it meant: intruders. Every once in a while kids from around town would venture onto the Delacroix's property, wanting to get a look at Beacon Hills' premiere "haunted house." Clara was a mischievous girl and there was nothing she loved more than toying with the humans. She could manipulate their minds, allowing them to see things that weren't there. She would cause hallucinations of ghostly silhouettes moving across the windows and monsters appearing and disappearing before their eyes. Her favorite trick was to make imaginary spiders crawl all over one's skin while the other stood there baffled as to why their friend had suddenly gone insane.

Clara peered into the gazer, buzzing with delight. She placed her hand on the surface of the crystal and it transformed from a clear surface to an image of the front yard. She noticed some leaves rustling by the bushes and turned her attention towards them. She was greeted by the sight of three boys lurking behind the shrubbery. She recognized two of them as being the werewolves, Scott and Isaac from before. She hadn't been formally introduced to the third one, but he was about to get acquainted with her. Normally Clara stuck to simple tricks to mess with the intruders, but these boys were already aware of the supernatural so she figured she might as well get creative.

* * *

"So what exactly are we looking for," Isaac asked, struggling to hide his tall body behind the bushes.

"I don't know," Stiles began. "Anything that proves she's an evil creature from hell."

"We don't know she's actually evil," Scott chimed in.

"We don't know she's not," Stiles countered.

"We need to get closer," Scott said. "If we hide behind that wall over there we can look through the window without being seen."

The three boys moved cautiously towards the house, making sure they made no noise as they went. They huddled close together to fit behind the narrow wall beside the window. The panes of glass were so dirty they could barely see through them. After a few seconds they saw the front door open and Clara stepped out of it. They ducked quickly so she could not see them. She kept her head down, her hair blocking her face. They watched as she walked away from the house and into the woods, where she seemed to disappear from sight. There was something off about the way she moved. Her once eerie glide was now stiff and rigid. But there were many things that felt off about the Delacroix house.

"That was strange," Stiles remarked. "She didn't lock the door behind her."

"Do you think anyone else is in there?" Scott asked.

"Let's find out," Isaac said, springing up from their hiding spot and making his way towards the door.

"What the hell are you doing?" Scott called after him.

"Do you want to see what's in here," Isaac said. "Or do you want to sit out here behind a bush like two little pussies?"

"Those are fighting words," Stiles said as he ungracefully shot up from the ground and joined Isaac by the door. Scott followed after him reluctantly and they opened the door. They winced as it creaked loudly, but they were relieved to see no one was in the room to hear it.

"I don't hear anyone else," Scott said after surveying the room with his superior sight and hearing. "I think its empty."

The insides of the house looked drab and unkempt. The furniture was old and dusty and the walls were bare. There wasn't much sign that anyone lived there. If they hadn't just seen Clara walk out of it they would have thought it was abandoned.

"How can anyone live like this?" Stiles whispered. "I mean someone who's not an angry werewolf with low hygienic standards."

"I have no idea," Scott said. "Maybe they just don't use this room a lot?"

"Maybe," Isaac said with doubt. He was used to living in less than ideal circumstances but this place was a shithole even by his standards.

There wasn't much to bee seen on the first floor so they decided to head up the stairs. The boards of the stairs creaked with every step, sending a wave of unpleasantness over the room. Once they reached the second floor they were met by a narrow hallway lined with several closed doors.

"Which one should we try first?" Stiles wondered allowed. "How about door number one."

Scott grabbed the tarnished brass handle of the door and twisted it until it gave way and opened. They entered the room one after another, Scott leading in the front and Stiles behind Isaac. The windows barely let enough light into the room to see. The small bedroom was covered in cobwebs and the walls were dirty with dark stains. Stiles shivered as he felt himself unknowingly walk into a web. The boys were silent as they investigated the room. Isaac was first to break the silence.

"Stiles, why the hell are you touching me?" he asked.

"Uh, I'm not," Stiles answered from behind him. "I don't know if you've noticed but I really don't like you that much."

"Then what is that," he said, reaching his hand around his back to feel what was prodding him. When he brought his arm back around what he saw caused him to jump. There were several large spiders crawling up his arm, their hairy legs tickling against the bare skin or his arms. He cried out as he threw the spiders off of him. He then proceeded to frantically brush himself off, worried that there might be more.

"What?" Scott said, turning around quickly to see why his friend was so distressed.

"There was a bunch of spiders on me," Isaac answered.

"What? No there wasn't," Stiles said.

"Yes there was, there all over the...floor," Isaac began to explain, but when he looked down there was nothing there. It was like he imagined the entire thing. His face began to turn a bit red with embarrassment, a look that wasn't often found on the boy's face.

"Spider or not it doesn't change the fact that you just screamed like a girl," Stiles teased.

"Stilinski I will kill you," Isaac growled.

"Whatever wolfie," Stiles said, rolling his eyes. "There's nothing in here, let's try another one."

They exited the room and attempted to find another one. Many of the doors were locked, but they kept trying until they found an open one. The next unlocked door led them into a large bathroom. The walls were covered with discolored white tiles that were chipped and broken. The pipes released a loud hum and dripped dirty water onto the floor. Stiles was the first to enter the bathroom. He shuddered as a drop of water splashed his head. He slowly approached the bathtub and peered over the edge of it. The other two boys looked around for a second but did not think they would find something interesting so they began to leave the room. Once Scott and Isaac were back into the hallway the door to the bathroom slammed shut.

Stiles whipped his head around as he heard the sound of the door slamming. Then he began to hear another sound. It sounded like water bubbling, but there was another sound he could not identify. He turned his head around again to face the tub and was so freaked out by what he saw that he stumbled back in fear, slipping on a puddle of water that seemed to appear out of thin air. In the bathtub there was a young girl under the water. She was dressed in a long, white lace gown. Her skin was deathly pale and her jet black hair sprawled out uncontrollably. She was screaming under the water like a banshee and her eyes were glazed over black. Stiles began to scream and crawled towards the door, terrified.

Scott and Isaac heard the screams and rushed towards the door. When they opened it, the room was exactly how they left it, except for Stiles who was writhing on the floor. Scott pulled his friend up from the dirty, tiled ground and onto his feet.

"What's wrong?" Scott asked.

"What's wrong? There's a...a-" Stiles did not know what to say. There was nothing there. No girl in the bathtub, no water on the ground. Nothing. He stood there shaking and breathing heavily. He had almost had a panic attack.

"We shouldn't have come here," Scott said, remembering the first time years ago that he and Stiles had snooped around the house. It was a stupid idea then and it was a stupid idea now. "Let's get out of here."

"Definitely," Stiles managed to pant out.

The boys entered the hallway once more, but this time something caused them to freeze dead in their tracks. Standing before them at the end of the corridor was a looming and frightful figure. It was clad in black robes that touched the ground and a large hood that cast a shadow over its face. Its eyes glowed a blood red and it released a terrifying raspy sound as it breathed. In its hands it brandished a long sword.

"Please tell me you see that," Stiles whispered, his voice high pitched with fear.

"Run," Scott said, and with no hesitation the three boys ran down the hall. Suddenly the dark figure appeared in front of them, as if it had teleported. It blocked their path to the stairs and had them trapped. There was no running from it, so they had to fight it. Scott and Isaac were in full werewolf mode now as they faced their enemy. Scott lunged at it fiercely but it blocked him with his arm and he was knocked into the wall by what felt like a powerful gust of wind. It then turned its attention to Isaac, who was growling menacingly. It began to move towards him, moving so fluidly that it appeared to be floating. Stiles grabbed a vase off of the nearby table and threw it at the creature. As it hit the cloaked figure it passed completely through it and the side it brushed seemed to turn into dust that lingered in the air. As quickly as it had disintegrated it repaired itself. Then, in a blink of an eye it disappeared.

"What the hell was that!" Stiles shouted, panting from the adrenaline that had rushed his body.

"I think it was a ghost or something," Scott replied.

"Let's go," Isaac said. They all ran down the stairs and out of the house as fast as they could. They kept running until the Delacroix house was completely out of sight.

Clara smiled devilishly at herself as she watched them run away from her vantage point in the library. She'd had more than enough mischief for the day and decided to retire to her bedroom.

* * *

After the incident at the Delacroix house Scott, Stiles and Isaac decided to head over to Derek's place to see if he might have any insight on the new, mysterious girl. They found him sitting on one of the broken benches that littered the abandoned train station he shared with Isaac and now his uncle Peter. He was strangely silent and still, almost like he was meditating.

"What do you want?" he asked without looking up to acknowledge the three boys.

"Nice to see you too," Stiles muttered.

"Derek, we need your help," Scott said, swallowing his pride.

"What did you do now?" Derek said with an exasperated sigh. He stood up from the bench and slowly walked towards the boys.

"We didn't do anything," Scott replied, narrowing his eyes. "We need you to help us figure something out."

Derek made a low, breathy noise that almost resembled laughter.

"What?" Stiles said, confused. "What was that?"

"Nothing, I'm just surprised that you little twerps are actually asking me for help before you make a complete mess of everything," Derek answered smugly.

"Do you wan't to help us or not?" Scott asked, frustrated.

"Oh, I'm all ears," Derek replied, leaning back on a metal beam with his arms crossed.

"We think there's a new...thing in town," Isaac chimed in.

"Can you be more specific?" Derek demanded.

"There's this new girl at our school," Scott began to explain. "We're not sure what she is, but she definitely has powers"

"What kind of powers?"

"Well," Scott continued. "Isaac touched her and she made him feel like he was being clawed inside of his body."

"And why was Isaac touching her?" he asked in a tone that was strangely paternal.

"That's really not important," Isaac mumbled.

"He hit on her and got rejected, big time," Stiles added. Derek rolled his eyes, bored by the trivial dilemmas of teenage boys.

"What else can she do?"

"Um," Scott began. "We don't really know, we haven't seen her do anything else."

"You're wasting my time," Derek stated bluntly.

"She knows we're werewolves," Scott added.

"And how does she know that?" Derek asked, this time he was shouting.

"We don't know," Scott answered. "But she told me she doesn't like our kind. She wouldn't tell me what she was though."

"Hates werewolves," Derek said quietly to himself. "But she's not a hunter, she's something else?"

"Yeah," Scott said. "She said she hates hunters too."

"I personally think she's a witch," Stiles said. "An evil witch."

"We don't know she's evil," Scott said.

"You're right, she must be a dainty fairy who just happens to live in a haunted house with ghosts and demons!" Stiles quipped, his hands gesturing in a frantic manner.

"How do you know what's in her house?" Derek sternly inquired as he stared down the three younger boys.

"Uh," Stiles began, trying to sound innocent. "Just a guess."

"You're lying. What were you doing in this girl's house?"

"We wanted to see what she was getting up to," Scott replied. "To figure out what she was."

"I can't believe I'm saying this but I actually thought you were smarter than that," Derek said. "You are such creeps."

"May I just remind everyone that you are the one who hangs out around a high school regularly," Stiles added, prompting Derek to shoot him a deathly cold look.

"What happened in the house?" Derek continued.

"We got attacked," Isaac said, breaking his silence. "By this weird, hooded guy with a sword."

"And we kept having hallucinations," Stiles added. "At least I hope they were hallucinations..."

"What house did you say this was?" Peter said, stepping out from behind the rusty metal train.

"Have you been there this whole time?" Stiles asked. Peter ignored him and walked over to where the rest of the pack was standing. Stiles still flinched a little every time he saw him. It was not exactly easy getting used to the presence of a formerly dead man who tried to murder you.

"The old Delacroix house," Isaac said.

"Wow, even I could have told you to stay away from there," Peter said condescendingly.

"We thought it was abandoned, but the new girl who goes to our school lives there," Scott explained. "Says she always has."

"You mean little Clara," Peter said, to the surprise of the boys.

"You know her?" Stiles said.

"Well, I did once. She was a baby the last time I saw her. Must not be so little anymore I guess."

"Why do you know Clara?" Scott asked.

"The Delacroixs and the Hales used to be acquaintances, among other things." Peter explained. "But that's all history."

"Well, can you tell us?" Scott inquired.

"Short version they hate us, we hate them," Peter said nonchalantly.

"Can you elaborate please?" Stiles added.

"Ugh, you children are so needy. I guess it's story time," Peter said, slightly exasperated but mostly loving the attention. "Back in the late 1800s when Beacon Hills was being developed there were three important families: the Hales, the Delacroixs and the Fausts. Our families all settled on the outskirts of Beacon Hills to distance ourselves from the regular humans. It was all about witch hunts and angry mobs back then so it was best to avoid the townspeople. We were all close as family at first, but it wasn't long before they began to distrust each other and eventually things escalated to a blood feud that lasted decades. But in the later part of the twentieth century things had died down. A large clan of hunters had set their sights on Beacon Hills and there was a common enemy that needed to be taken out. The three families were in talks to end the feud completely and form an alliance, but there was a traitor in our midsts. Most of the Delacroix family was slaughtered by the hunters who had been tipped off to their existence by the traitors. This was about fifteen years ago, and since there are so few of us and them now we mostly just keep our distance. But, to this day they still think it was us. Hence the whole hating werewolves thing."

"Well, then who really did betray them?" Stiles asked out of curiosity. "If it wasn't your family"

"We don't know. No one does. It could have been one of ours," Peter stated. "Someone might have wanted to strike a deal with the hunters for immunity, who knows?"

"What happened to the other family?" Isaac asked.

"They fled town, scared" Peter answered. "No one has seen or heard from them in ages."

"What were they?" Isaac said.

"They were what you might call alchemists. Scientists of the supernatural. Not magical by nature, but rather by skill. They were sort of like a bridge between the supernatural and the ordinary."

"So, what is Clara?" Scott asked, refocusing the group back to the matter at hand.

"A witch, basically," Peter said.

"Ha! I told you," Stiles said, pumping his fist in the air.

"She's an enchantress, to be more specific," Peter continued. "With a side of telepathy. She can cause illusions, mental and physical. She's a world class mind-fuck basically."

"So all that stuff at her house was-"

"Fake," Derek interrupted. "It was completely in your mind. She put it there to mess with you. Understandable considering you broke into her house."

"How dangerous is she?" Isaac asked.

"That depends," Peter said. "How pissed off can you make her?"

"Let's not find out," Scott chimed in.

"My advice is to stay away from her. It doesn't seem like she has any intention to harm anybody, don't give her one. Any attractions or curiosities are over, got it?"

"Yes, master," Stiles said with a small bow, mocking Derek's rigid seriousness.

"I mean it," he said, growling at the boy.

"Ok, we get it. No talking, no touching," Scott said, shooting a look to Isaac for the last part.

With that Scott and Stiles exited the run-down train station and made their way home. It had been a crazy day and they had a lot to think about.

* * *

**That was kinda a long one, I hope you liked it!**

**Please remember to leave a review/comment/question down below**


	4. Intentions

**Hi Everyone! Thanks for continuing to read and review. **

**Today's chapter features everyone's favorite ****redhead and also a little insight to the title of the story's meaning!**

* * *

**Chapter 4: Intentions**

It had been a few days since the incident at the Delacroix house. Now it was the day of a big lacrosse game and Scott hadn't had much time to think about the school's new resident enchantress with all that was going on. The boys had listened to Derek and did their best to stay away from Clara. Even though they were curious, they refrained from approaching her. She had not done anything but give them cold stares, which was hardly worth freaking out about. Scott began to think that maybe there was no hidden agenda. Maybe she was just like him, a supernatural being in need of an education.

Scott entered the locker room and dropped his stuff on the tiled bench below his locker. He twisted open the lock and began to fish his uniform out of the locker. He began to undress himself, his street clothes falling to a pile on the floor. Soon he was clad in a crimson and white jersey which was bulked up by a set of pads. Stiles appeared next to Scott's locker, already dressed, and sat down.

"You ready for this?" Stiles asked.

"I'm always ready," Scott said, not looking up from the laces he was tying.

"That's the spirit," Stiles said. "You think Lydia's gonna be here?"

"Well, she pretty much comes to every game," Scott answered. "So yes."

"I wonder if Alison will come with her," the boy added, immediately regretting his words as he saw the look on his friends face change. Scott and Allison had broken up, seemingly for good this time. There were no secret rendezvous or stolen kisses in empty classrooms anymore. Just two lonely teenagers wandering through their lives, doing their best to avoid each other. "Oh, sorry man," he added.

"It's fine," Scott stated. "We're fine." Scott's feelings of longing were interrupted by a familiar nasal voice that echoed through the locker room.

"Everybody circle up," Coach Finstock yelled. "Not next to me, Greenberg." The whole room fell quiet and everyone stood in a clump surrounding their eccentric but well-meaning coach. "Today we play Fairview Heights. Their team's a piece of crap. If we lose to them, I swear to God I won't be the only one in this room with one ball. You hear me?"

"Yes coach," the members of the team chanted in unison.

"Good! Now get out there and massacre those sons of bitches!"

The whole room cheered and whooped loudly as they filed out of the locker room in a mass of red and white. They ran onto the grass and the starting players took their positions on the field. The rest sat on the benches, yearning to be put into the action. In the moments before the referee blew his whistle to signal the start of the game, Scott surveyed the crowd, hoping he'd see a certain girls face.

"She's not here," a voice behind him said not too sympathetically. It was Isaac, his blue eyes peering intently though his helmet. "But look who is."

The boys looked up at the stands to see the face of none other than Clara Delacroix. She sat cross-legged by herself, dressed in a oxblood coat with tall black boots over black jeans. Her hair blew softly around her face in the biting wind, but her big, intense eyes were fixed on the field. Her cold gaze met theirs, signifying that they had been staring just a second too long. With her right hand she gave them a devious wave and mouthed the word "hi" with a devilish smile. The two boys quickly looked away.

"What is she doing here?" Scott wondered aloud.

"She doesn't exactly seem the sporty type," Isaac added, twirling his lacrosse stick in his hand. He fought back his natural instinct to show off in front of her, remembering she could be the actual spawn of satan. The sound of the whistle blowing rattled loudly in his ears, bringing his mind back to the task at hand: crushing the opposing team.

Clara rolled her eyes as she watched the boys try to act natural. It amused her how easily she could make two grown werewolves basically piss themselves with so little effort. She watched Isaac in particular as he ran down the field. She had a feeling that he could easily become her favorite play thing. Scott was so serious and moral, and Stiles was, well, Stiles. But Isaac, he could be fun. What kind of tricks could she get up to tonight?

"Come for the game or the cute boys?" a saccharin, high pitched voice questioned, interrupting Clara's train of thought.

"Excuse me?" Clara murmured, confused. She turned around to see a fair, red headed girl clad in a cream coat, thick tights and a tartan mini-skirt sit down beside her.

"I'm Lydia," the girl said in a tone that would have been friendly if there wasn't something slightly fake about it. She recognized the girl from one of her classes. She struck Clara as being a bit snobby and prissy, words that were often used to describe herself.

"I'm Clara Delacroix," she answered. The girl was holding out her hand towards her, so instinctively she shook it. Strange, Clara thought to herself as she felt the girl's soft skin under hers. Normally she could get a lot of information from a person through touch but this girl seemed to have something else. She gave Clara a strange feeling she had never sensed before. It made Clara quite curious. "You're in my French class right?"

"Oui, et histoire," Lydia said, smiling. "Delacroix...that's french for 'of the cross', isn't it."

"Yeah, my ancestors were...priests," Clara lied.

"So which is it Clara? The match or the men?"

Clara hesitated for a moment and then began to speak. "The men," she said, in a rare moment of candid honesty as she spied Isaac and Scott on the field.

"I love a girl who's honest," Lydia said with a small smile. Normally Lydia wasn't one to be overly friendly to other students, especially the new ones. As the most popular girl in Beacon Hills she chose her friends carefully. But that was then, and now everyone thought she was bat-shit crazy. Up until this point she'd had Alison, but they had gotten into a bit of a tiff since she had found out all the secrets she had been keeping from her. With Jackson out of the picture as well she needed someone to hang out with, even if it was only temporary. One friend was better than being a complete loser who sits in the bathroom to eat lunch. Clara was her best bet because she was new and didn't know of her naked escapade through the woods or screaming fits in class. Besides, she had great taste in boots, which already gave them one thing in common. "So where'd you move here from, Clara?"

"Actually, I've always lived here," Clara said. "I've just been home-schooled."

"Hmm," Lydia said while looking the girl up and down with critical eyes. "You could not pay me enough to stay at home with Mama Martin all day. I would be popping Vicodin like candy."

Clara released a faint laugh at the girls comment. "It's not that bad. I can proudly say I've gone almost sixteen years without eating crappy cafeteria food or wearing a gym uniform."

"Ew, did you like wear pajamas all hours of the day?" Lydia asked.

"No," Clara answered. "My grandmother always says that the day you start wearing pajamas as clothes is the day you should be put in a home."

"Amen to that," Lydia said with a smile. "I like your ensemble by the way. Dark colors are so chic right now, it's very Cruel Intentions."

"Cruel what?" Clara asked, confused.

"Oh my God you've never seen Cruel Intentions," the girl shrieked. "We need to fix that, like yesterday."

The two girls were interrupted by a loud roar from the crowd. Beacon Hills had scored and the players on the filed were jumping around each other in excitement. Lydia sprang up to her feet and cheered alongside everyone. Clara remained seated, she was relieved to have a break from the energetic girl. Making friends wasn't something Clara had ever done. It was happening so fast that she was almost getting dizzy. The cheering died down and everyone returned to their previous seated positions.

"Where were we," Lydia continued. "Oh yes, you were coming over to my house after school tomorrow for a movie and facials."

"I was?" Clara deadpanned.

"Of course," Lydia replied. "I don't mean to toot my own horn but I throw a legendary girl's night. Give me your phone."

"Ok," Clara said after pausing for a moment. What harm could one night do? She handed the girl her phone and watched as she typed in her number and address.

Down on the field the players had slowed down for a moment while the opposing team called a time out. Fairview Heights was getting their asses handed to them and needed every moment they could get. Scott and Isaac had joined Stiles on the bench for a quick break.

"Look who's made a new friend," Scott said with an uneasy tone to his voice. The three boys looked up into the stands, shocked to see Lydia, of all people having a friendly chat with the new girl.

"What are they saying?" Stiles asked frantically. "She's trying to convert her to the dark side, isn't she?"

"Lydia already is on the dark side," Isaac said sarcastically.

"They're talking about facials and boots," Scott answered. "Girl stuff."

"Yeah, first it's facials and boots, then its pentagrams and satan worshiping," Stiles added.

"We should warn her," Scott said. He was interrupted by a whistle signaling the time out was over.

"Asses on the field!" Coach cried as the starting players rushed back into the game.

* * *

The game was now over and Beacon Hills had won by an amount of points that could only be described as embarrassing for the other team. The crowd rushed the field in excitement, the cheers were almost deafening from the center of the action.

"I'm gonna go say hi to some of the players," Lydia said, having to shout for Clara to hear her over the crowd. "There's gonna be a great party at Danny's house after, wanna come?"

"I can't, I have to take care of my grandmother," Clara lied. Her grandmother was probably the fittest ninety-year-old on the planet and could more than take care of herself. She just wasn't in the mood to party, and she had a feeling she wouldn't be all that welcome, considering two of the star players were werewolves.

"Oh, too bad," Lydia cooed. "Isaac's gonna be there. I saw you talking to him the other day."

Even though it was freezing outside Clara could feel her face burn with embarrassment. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said, stony faced.

"Ok, ok," the girl said in a teasing manner. "I see someone's not so open with her feelings."

"I don't have feelings," she said, an awkward pause arising between the two girls. "For him, I mean. I don't have feelings for him."

"Well, that's probably for the best," Lydia said. "Between you and me, he's kind of..." instead of finishing her sentence the girl simply twirled her finger around her head and made a ditzy face.

"Crazy?" Clara said loudly as if the girl was actually struggling to find the word.

"Homeschooling has taught you many things," Lydia said. "Subtlety was not one of them. Anyway, my house, tomorrow, be there." With that she turned on her heel and marched confidently down the bleachers, her skirt flouncing as she moved.

As Lydia made her way onto the field, she was instantly rushed by Stiles and Scott, Isaac trailing behind them.

"Ok, even Prada doesn't pounce on me like that," Lydia said, referring to her diminutive dog. "What do you want, Stilinski?"

"That girl you were talking to," Stiles began.

"Who, Clara?"

"Where'd she go," Isaac asked.

"She went home. Too bad Lahey, you missed your chance," she said teasingly. Isaac, taken aback by her frankness tried his hardest not to blush.

"You should hold off on getting friendly with her," Isaac stated.

"Why, you want her all to yourself?" Lydia teased, kind of annoyed that Isaac Lahey was telling her what to do.

"She's just, maybe not the person you think she is," Scott said.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Lydia snapped. "I'm a great judge of character."

"Just stay away from her," Scott said.

"I have this little feeling that there is something you're not telling me," Lydia said in an almost sing-song manner that on anyone else would sound innocent, but on her had a biting undertone. "Is this anything to do with that thing that you guys are that you didn't tell me about and made me think I was insane?" She added, taking advantage of an opportunity to make them feel guilty about all the secrets they had kept from her.

"Yes, kind of," Stiles said. "We just don't want you to get hurt, ok."

"Then be honest with me, for once."

Stiles and Scott looked at each other, silently communicating the way only best friends could. Scott reluctantly shrugged and gave Stiles a look that said "go ahead."

"Ok, the truth is, Clara is a..." he bent down towards Lydia's ear and whispered so no one else would hear.

"A witch," Lydia whispered. "Well, I've seen stranger things."

"And you're not freaked out?" Stiles asked.

"Like I've said, I've seen stranger things," she repeated, shivering at the memory of seeing Jackson as a kanima. "Is she a good witch or a bad witch?"

"We don't know if she's dangerous or not," Scott said.

"I'm personally leaning towards evil," Stiles chimed in.

"Just be careful ok," Scott added.

"Ok," Lydia said. Of course the one girl she had kind of hit it off with would be another supernatural being. But being Lydia Martin she didn't let it faze her. She picked her head up and walked with it high as she disappeared into the crowd to socialize with the other players.

* * *

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**Tune in next week for more!**


	5. Errands

**Hi everyone! Big thanks to everyone who read and reviewed! Please keep those coming :)**

* * *

**Chapter 5: Errands**

Clara got home promptly after the game and headed directly for her bedroom. On her way there she passed by the library where her grandmother was browsing through her collection of books. At the sound of Clara's footsteps her grandmother gracefully turned around and called after her.

"Clara, please come in here," she said. Clara entered the library and sat down next to her.

"Yes, grandmother," she replied.

"What were you up to this evening?"

"I was at the lacrosse game,"

"I had no idea you were interested in sports," Ms. Delacroix remarked.

"Well, I don't really. Its just something the normal kids do, I thought I might give it a try," Clara answered.

"And how has school been in general. Are you adjusting well to the change?"

"It has been fine," Clara said. "The work isn't too demanding."

"What about friends, are you making any?"

Clara hesitated for a moment. She wasn't quite sure what constituted as a friend. The closest thing she had to that was the girl, Lydia, she had spoken to at the game. But that was only a short conversation. "I met a girl at the game," she began. "She invited me to her house tomorrow evening. Is it alright if I go?"

"I don't see why not," her grandmother replied. "As long as you don't get into trouble. Just remember one thing, Clara. No matter how close you get to the regular humans, no matter how much you may trust them, you should never give away our secret to them."

"Of course grandmother, I would never," Clara answered. She thought back to the girl she had met that night. How touching her gave her a strange feeling. She wondered if she could be classified under the category of "regular human."

"It's not that I don't trust you," her grandmother continued. "It's just that young people have a tendency to get swept up in things."

"I understand," Clara said. "May I be excused now?"

"Not yet. There is one more thing," her grandmother said, her voice changing to a more serious tone. "I have an errand I need you to run."

"Where to?" Clara asked. It was not uncommon for her grandmother to send her out to fetch things every once in a while, as she did not like leaving the house herself unless it was absolutely necessary.

"I need you to run over to Esmé's shop in town. She has something of mine I need to retrieve from her."

Clara tried not to visibly shudder at the sound of Esmé's name. Esmé was an acquaintance of her grandmother. A boisterous, gaudy woman, Clara had been forced to spend many a day with her while her grandmother took important trips. She was not a born enchantress, like Clara or her grandmother, but rather a common witch. She was no where near as powerful as the Delacroixs, but she acted as though she were the greatest witch of all time. She had adopted the persona of a gypsy psychic as a scheme to take the money of townspeople who were easily fooled by a crystal ball and a turban. But she was useful to some extent. Out of the back of her shop she sold many of the materials that were necessary for Ms. Delacroix to practice her craft and for that she was frequently visited by them. For reasons Clara was not privy to, her grandmother trusted Esmé very much.

"What exactly am I getting?" Clara asked.

"That is not important. She will know what to give you," Ms. Delacroix replied. "Don't dilly dally, I want you back soon."

"Ok, grandmother," Clara said.

* * *

Upon arriving at Esmé's shop Clara entered the door and was immediately swallowed up by a sea of curtains and beads. She managed to push her way through without getting tangled and stepped into the main room of the shop.

"We're closed," a loud voice snapped from behind the counter. It was Esmé and she was counting a stack of bills.

"It's Clara," the girl called out, causing Esmé to look up from what she was doing.

"Hello child," Esmé cried, her tone changing to a sweater one as she looked at Ms. Delacroix's granddaughter. She got up from her chair behind the counter and glided over to Clara, her long skirt brushing the floor as she traveled. She grabbed Clara by the shoulders and looked at her the way an over-baring aunt would. "Look how skinny you are, there's not a muscle on you," she said, holding out one of Clara's arms. Her tactile manner always made Clara uncomfortable.

"Grandmother said you had something to giver her?" Clara said, putting a blunt end to whatever small talk Esmé would try to make with her.

"Yes, it's downstairs," Esmé answered, her tone becoming extremely serious. "I'm surprised she did not come to fetch it herself."

She lead Clara to a bookcase near the back of the store. She removed a book with a light blue cover and gold pages off of the shelf, revealing a small lever. She pressed down on the lever, causing a faint clicking sound. With a labored push the bookcase opened, giving way to a large hole in the wall. Esmé stepped through the hole, Clara following close behind her. The hole led to a small, dark back room that was off limits to Esmé's regular clientele.

Inside of the room was lined with rows and rows of shelves. Each one was packed with vials, jars and ancient looking books. There was also a small table with a scale and several large bowls filled with mysterious powders and liquids. It looked more like a mad scientist's lab than a psychic's shop.

Clara stood near the entrance of the room and watched as Esmé walked over to the desk that stood in the back corner. She pulled out a key from one of the deep pockets of her dress and unlocked one of the drawers. From the drawer she pulled out a small gold box that had one large lock on it. Clara barely had time to get a god look at it before Esmé grabbed some light brown paper off of a spool by the desk and wrapped the box like any ordinary package. She picked it up and walked over to Clara. She held the box out to her as if it was a gift and Clara reached out to take it. Clara gasped as the weight of the box nearly pulled her down to the ground.

"You sure you can manage that?" Esmé said.

"Yes," Clara said, straightening herself up. "What exactly is in here?"

"That is your grandmother's business," Esmé snapped. "You should get going. Take that straight to your grandmother."

"Ok," Clara said, growing even more suspicious of what the purpose of this errand really meant. Esmé guided Clara back to the main section of the shop. She closed the hidden door behind her, leaving no trace that it was ever there.

"Wait, child," she called out after Clara.

"Yes," Clara answered.

"Take some of these for your friends," Esmé said, handing her a couple business cards. Clara did her best not to roll her eyes at the tacky woman. Like she was going to hand out business cards for a psychic at school. Out of politeness she shoved the cards into her bag. Then she watched as Esmé returned to the area behind the counter and sat back down, returning her attention to the cash register.

Clara made her way through the waterfall of curtains and out the door. As she stepped onto the sidewalk she bumped into a slender man wearing a suit and hat. She almost dropped the package she was carrying, but managed to keep her grip on it. He looked down at her with unamused eyes as she recovered.

"Sorry," she said as she walked past him, holding on tightly to the package she carried.

* * *

Clara climbed the spiral staircase and entered the library where her grandmother was still sitting. She was reading a large, leather bound book that was sprawled out on her lap. Ms. Delacroix looked up at Clara, her long, silver hair falling away from her face as she moved.

"Here is your package," Clara said softly as she approached her grandmother.

"Thank you, Clara," she replied as she extended her hands, reaching for the wrapped box. Much to Clara's dismay she did not open it. Instead she placed it on the bench beside her, almost as if she was uninterested in it. Then, she glanced back over at Clara signaling with a look that she had been staring for too long. "You should go to bed now, little one."

"It's only ten o-"

Ms. Delacroix gave her another stern look. One of which Clara knew well not to argue with.

"I'll see you in the morning," Clara said, keeping her eyes down. Then she exited the room and began to climb the stairs toward her bedroom. But she did not go to her room. Instead, she lurked on the stairs in a spot she could not be seen and watched her grandmother. She was very curious of what was in that box; why it was so special she could not know what it was. Clara watched as her grandmother entered her own bedroom and shut the door. When Clara knew it was safe to move, she tip-toed down the stairs and knelt by the door of her grandmother's bedroom.

"Permettre à mes yeux pour voir," _Allow my eyes to see_, she whispered as softly as she could. Once she said the words the keyhole began to enlarge itself so that she could just barely see into the room. She watched as her grandmother placed the package onto her bed. She unwrapped the brown paper, revealing the gold box. It glimmered in the light of the chandelier that hung high in the room.

Then, much to Clara's surprise, she took out a small knife from the pocket of her dress and sliced a small section of her finger. It was just big enough for a few drops of blood to drip out, one by one. She held her finger over the lock and let the blood drip into where a key normally would fit. At the same time, she softly uttered the word, "ouvrir," _open_. There was a faint clicking sound as the lock on the box unfastened. Ms. Delacroix slowly pried opened the box. It emitted an ethereal, white light that lit up her face with a radiant glow. Then, all of a sudden she slammed the lid of the box closed and turned around, looking towards the door.

Clara held her breath as she ducked out of sight. She was afraid her grandmother was going to burst out of the door, enraged at Clara's spying. But, to her amazement, nothing happened. Slowly she lifted herself back up onto her knees and peered through the lock again. Now her grandmother was holding the box. She carried it across the room, stopping at a large painting that hung on the wall. With her free hand she dismounted the painting and leaned it against the wall, revealing a metal door with a spiral of gold writing on it. She moved her hand along the words, whispering something Clara could not understand. Once she had finished all of the words were glowing softly. The door opened by itself and she placed the box inside of it. Then she closed the door and hung the painting back on the wall, hiding it out of view.

* * *

Scott rested on top of the sheets on his bed, silently staring up at the ceiling. He was exhausted from the game and the party that came after it. He had started to drift off, his eyes becoming tiny slits. But then the sound of his phone ringing caused him to lurch up. His eyes were foggy as he reached towards the phone on his bed-side table.

"Hello," he said sheepishly.

"Scott, wake up," the voice of Stiles rang through his ears.

"I am up," Scott said, annoyed. "That's how I answered the phone."

"Never mind that, this is important," Stiles continued. "I was playing around with the police radio and heard about a quote 'grizzly murder' out in the city. It happened a few hours ago while we were at the party, we gotta check it out."

"And..." Scott said, hoping for once it was just a plain human on human murder that would not unleash a supernatural can of worms on his already busy life.

"And they said it was a mountain lion, which, as the record shows, is usually code for werewolf. We gotta check it out. I'll be over in five."

"Stiles I-" Scott began, but he was cut off with a click as Stiles hung up. There was no use arguing with Stiles when there was a crime scene to crash.

After a few minutes of trying not to fall back asleep Scott pried himself out of bed and threw some jeans and a t-shirt on. He had just finished tying his sneakers when he heard the honk of Stiles' Jeep loud in his ears.

"If you're trying to wake up the whole neighborhood then good job," Scott said as he climbed into the car.

"Don't be so grumpy dude, it's not even that late," Stiles replied.

"It's one in the morning," Scott rebutted. "Where are we going exactly?"

"Beacon Hills Commercial Center," Stiles answered. It was the sight of an old strip mall that had been practically run out of business when the new mall opened. Most of the businesses had closed down save for a few random shops. It was known to be a bit of a sketchy area, the kind of place where drug deals might go down.

Stiles and Scott parked the car out of sight and headed towards the old mall. By the time they had got there the cops had already cleared out. They left behind rows of yellow tape that highlighted the area. Cautiously, the two boys approached the crime scene and surveyed the building. It was an old, shabby looking shop with dirty windows, one of which was completely shattered. The windows were outlined with purple, velvet curtains and strings of beads. There was a dull, light-up sign that displayed the shop's name in curly letters.

"Lady Esmerelda's House of Psychic and Medium Readings," Stiles read out loud in disbelief.

"What would anyone want with a hack psychic?" Scott wondered aloud.

"I don't know but now I really want to find out," Stiles said. "Come on." He ran towards the building and stepped over the broken glass window. Much less excited, Scott followed behind him. Stiles turned on his flashlight and began to look around. The inside of the shop was exactly how anyone would have imagined it. Beads and drapes hung from the ceiling and the walls were lined with shelves that were packed with mysterious books and objects. Symbols of the occult hung on the walls and there was a large crystal ball sitting in the middle of the room on a glass table.

The only difference was that now the wall behind the main counter was splattered in blood. The carpet beside the wall was stained with a pool of blood as well. Strange enough, the stack of bills on the counter was untouched. Nothing around the area was broken either and there didn't seem to be any signs of struggle. It was strange, both the boys thought, how neat everything else looked. The boys leaned down, inspecting it closer. Scott sniffed around to see what kind of scents he could get.

"Are you getting anything?" Stiles asked

"Of everything I can smell," Scott began. "None of them are another werewolf."

"You sure?"

"Definitely."

"What else are you getting," Stiles inquired.

"Lots of incense," Scott replied, making a disgusted face. "And ladies perfume, smells kind of familiar."

"Smelled it on anyone we know?" Stiles said. "Like a certain little witch?"

"I don't know, It does smell like her a little, but I can't be sure" Scott said, frustrated. "We don't even know she had anything to do with this."

"Well, she's still on my suspect list," Stiles quipped.

"What do you think the murderer wanted anyway?" Scott asked. "Nothing seems to be out of place."

"No idea," Stiles answered. "To me it seems like they must have walked through the front door and left through the window. Its the only thing that's broken, and most of the glass is on the outside, like it was pushed through."

"Do you think she had real powers?" Scott inquired.

"I don't know. Everything in here just screams con artist," Stiles said, touching the crystal ball on the table beside him. He wasn't surprised to feel it was plastic. Scott wandered around the room, looking for anything that might give them an idea of how or why this happened. He stopped in front of a bookshelf and looked at the titles that lined the shelves.

"Lycanthropy," he read aloud. Out of curiosity he reached for the book. After he plucked it off the shelf something shiny caught his eye. He leaned in closer towards the shelf and saw a small lever at the back of it. "What does this do," he thought to himself, stretching his hand out towards the lever. Suddenly the shelf popped forward. "Stiles, come here," Scott cried, shining his flashlight towards what he had discovered. Stiles rushed by his side. "Look," Scott said, pointing his flashlight towards the bookshelf that was jutting out of the wall.

"Secret door," Stiles said, sounding more excited than creeped out. He stepped towards it and began to push. "It's really heavy, help me." Effortlessly, Scott pushed on the door and sent it flying open. He shined his flashlight into the open hole that now stood before them. The two boys stepped through the hole and found themselves in another room. The small room was completely destroyed. Broken glass and smashed bottles littered the floor. Frames were hanging off the walls and their paintings were ripped open. The cushions were torn apart, their fluffy insides strewn all over the ground. In the corner was a small desk whose drawers had been flung out of their slots. "So now we know they were definitely looking for something. But what?"

"Look at these claw marks," Scott said, holding up one of the torn pillows. "Definitely not werewolf."

"Or mountain lion," Stiles added.

* * *

**Tune in next time for some Clara + Lydia bonding time!**

**As always, leave a comment/question/critique. I love to hear from you all!**


	6. Choice

**Hi everyone! Thanks so much for reading and for the kinds words I have been hearing from some of you :)**

**This chapter is one of my favorites so far, lots of Lydia, Clara, Scott and Stiles.**** I hope you like!**

* * *

**Chapter 6: Choice**

Scott stood outside his house, his cheeks bitten by the cold morning air. He watched as the blue Jeep pulled up beside him. He threw his bag into the back of the car and then climbed into the passenger's seat.

"Hey," he said to Stiles as he sat down. "You find out anything else about last night?"

"Not really," Stiles replied. "I snuck through my dad's reports and there was nothing about the secret room. T hey totally don't know it's there. They still think it might be an animal attack since nothing seemed to be missing."

"Maybe it's best to let them think that," Scott said.

"There were some pictures of the body too," Stiles continued. "Matched the claw marks we found on the pillows. Kind of a tidy animal attack though. I think it must have been some kind of shapeshifter. Someone with more intelligence than an animal, but the form of one."

"You're still thinking it was Clara," Scott said.

"Yep," Stiles answered with a nod of his head. "She just gives me this feeling. Also, I remembered something Isaac said after she attacked him that day. He said when she touched him it felt like he was being,"

"Clawed," Scot finished. "If it is her, then we need to stop her before she kills anyone else. The only problem is, how do we prove it?"

"I don't know," Stiles answered. "I think we should search through her stuff. See what we can find."

"How are we going to do that," Scott inquired. "It's not like she's just going to hand it over to us. And besides, remember the last time we snuck through her stuff?"

"Oh, you simple werewolf you," Stiles said. "I have a plan. Clara has gym during our free period-"

"How do you know that?" Scott interrupted.

"I hacked into the school's files and looked up her schedule. Dude, it's like elementary sleuthing," Stiles answered. "Anyway, while she's in gym, we break into her locker and go through her bag. Then we can see if she's got anything...suspicious."

"You wan't to sneak into the girl's locker room?" Scott asked. "If we get caught, not only are we going to get into so much trouble, everyone's going to think we're pervs."

"It's all in the name of justice," Stiles said. "Are you in or not?"

"Ugh, fine," Scott sighed. "But we get in and out as fast as we can ok?"

The boys pulled up to the school and parked the car. Then they walked up to the school doors and went their separate ways to class.

* * *

Lydia stood in front of her locker mirror, putting a loose strand of hair back into place. She reached into her bag and put away the books for classes that had already passed. Then she reached into the locker for the next set and began to shove them into her bag. While looking down, she saw a pair of black, leather boots with shiny buckles appear next to her brown suede ones. She looked up to see Clara leaning against the locker beside her looking cool and bored.

"We still on for today?" the girl asked in a way that was interested but not too eager.

"Actually," Lydia began. She thought back to what Scott, Stiles, and Isaac had told her about Clara at the game. She knew she wasn't one to judge when it came to being a supernatural freak-show, but it still gave her an uneasy feeling knowing what Clara was. For all she knew Clara could be totally harmless, but after the last few months of terrifying visions and psychotic breakdowns, Lydia definitely wasn't ready to go back there any time soon. "I don't know, I have to do this thing with my mom and-"

"I know you're lying," Clara said without prevarication. She could see the way Lydia's face had changed when she looked at her. She had become nervous in the way someone who knows too much would. Lydia was slightly taken aback by the girl's statement. "You know something, don't you?"

"I know a lot of things, none of which are what you're talking about," Lydia said.

"Then let me clarify. You know something about me." Clara said coolly. She had taken a chance confronting the girl. She didn't actually know if Lydia knew about her powers, but if she did, she wanted to get it out of her. And if she didn't, well, she could be made to forget. "Who told you? Was it Scott? Or maybe Stiles? He seems like the chatty one."

Lydia fell silent and went back to collecting her things from her locker. She thought that ignoring the girl might make her go away. Clara began to speak again.

"But I think the real question is, what are you?"

Lydia looked at the girl, stunned by what she just said. Clara looked straight into her eyes, refusing to let her look away. The look in Lydia's eyes told her everything.

"You don't even know, do you?" Clara said with disbelief.

"Like I said, I don't know what you're talking about," Lydia replied.

"I'm a witch," Clara stated. "That's what Scott told you, right?"

Lydia shook her head as if to say yes.

"Well, he was kind of right. I'm an enchantress."

"What's the difference?" Lydia asked, her natural curiosity taking over.

"Witches cast spells and make potions," Clara explained. "I can do that too. But I mostly deal with bending reality. Manipulating the mind and body into experiencing things a little bit differently. Illusions, hallucinations, whatever you want to call it. Remember before when you mentioned that my name translates to of the cross?"

"Yeah," Lydia said, nodding her head. She wasn't exactly sure what the girl was getting at.

"And I told you my ancestors were priests. I lied. My name has nothing to do with religion. It has to do with the point at which the crossroads of the natural and the supernatural collide. And I think that's where you're powers lie too."

"And are you-"

"A good witch or a bad witch?" Clara said with a slight laugh, cutting the girl off. Lydia began to nod again. "It's only natural that you would want to know. I'm good, I guess. If you don't mess with me I won't mess with you."

"Why should I believe you?" Lydia said sternly, narrowing her eyes.

"Look, I've known you for what, thirty seconds and I've already been completely honest with you," Clara said. "How long did it take your little friends to do the same?"

Lydia paused for a moment as she reflected on the events of the past few months. It took them forever to be honest with her, and at the expense of her sanity.

"I can show you more," Clara said. "If you're interested."

"I don't know if that's a good idea," Lydia said.

"You have something special, Lydia Martin, I can feel it. It would be a shame if all of that potential went...untapped. Meet me in the parking lot after school if you change your mind," Clara said. And with that she walked away, leaving Lydia with a choice to make.

* * *

Stiles had awaited his free period with nervous energy all day. When the bell for the class before it rang, he all but sprinted out of the room. He waited impatiently at Scott's locker for him to arrive.

"What took you so long," Stiles asked as Scott finally showed up.

"Relax, it's been like two minutes," Scott answered. "And besides, everyone gets five minutes to dress out for gym class, she would have still been in there anyway."

"I guess you're right," Stiles said, letting his friend's lateness slide. The two boys began to walk towards the locker rooms. They waited around the corner for a few minutes for everyone to leave before they could go in.

"What do you expect to find in there anyway?"

"Something that proves she was there last night," Stiles said. "Something evil."

"You and this evil crap I swear," Scott said exasperatedly.

Stiles peered around the corner and saw a large group of girls exit the locker room and enter the gym. They waited a few more minutes until everything was clear. Then they snuck into the room.

"This is so weird," Stiles said as they entered the girl's locker room. "It's exactly like ours only...slightly cleaner."

"What did you expect?" Scott asked.

"I don't know, couches, a little man who gives you warm towels."

"Very funny," Scott said. "I think hers is back here, I can smell her. Same smell that was in the psychic's shop too."

The boys walked through rows of locker covered walls until they stopped at what they thought was the right one. Scott pressed his ear to the locker and began to twist the knob until it opened. Inside the locker was Clara's bag, along with her street clothes, some frilly deodorant, and and a small pouch filled with assorted make-up items.

"Jackpot," Stiles said as he reached for her bag.

"Wait," Scott said, causing Stiles to pause abruptly. "Don't just mess everything up, then she will know someone touched her stuff."

"Ok, I'll be careful," Stiles replied as he slowly began to take out her things. There wasn't much in there that was uncommon for a teenage girl to have. Phone, wallet, pencils, books, lipgloss- nothing out of the ordinary. He opened her wallet and began to look through it. "Woah," he cried, causing Scott to turn around.

"What? Did you find something?"

"She's loaded," Stiles said, pulling out a wad of cash. Scott rolled his eyes as Stiles put the money back into her purse. "Wait," he said as he looked in the wallet again. He pulled out some small rectangular cards that were purple with loud, gold writing on them. "Look what we have here." He held up the cards to Scott, who read them aloud.

"Madame Esmerelda's," he said. "I guess you were right."

"What do you mean you guess I was right," Stiles began, a smug smile spreading across his face. "I'm always right."

"Ok, you're always right," Scott said. "Now can we get out of here please."

Stiles carefully placed Clara's belongings back into her locker and quietly shut the door. The two boys headed straight for the exit. They both felt a rush of adrenaline creep over them at the thought of what they just got away with. They stepped out of the locker room and into the bright hallway.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" A voice called out to them. Both boys froze in their tracks. Mr. Harris stood before them, his arms crossed and his mouth curled into a disapproving snarl. "I don't know if you two idiots have learned to read yet but that says girl's locker room. Unless there's a very personal secret you want to tell me, I will be seeing both of you in detention." He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a pad of thin pink paper. Without bothering to sign the slips he ripped two off and handed one to each boy.

"You have these pre-signed?" Stiles questioned looking down at the paper that already had his name on it.

"Yes, it's saved me a lot of time," Mr. Harris answered. "Now if either of you try to ditch I will personally make sure you will never see the inside of this school again. Got it?"

"Yes," the boys said unenthusiastically in unison.

"Now get to class," Harris said.

"It's our free period," Stiles replied.

"Then get to the library," Harris shot back. "Now!"

* * *

The final bell of the day rang and the students poured out of the building in droves. Clara stood in the student parking lot, leaning casually against a brick wall. The cold pinched Clara's cheeks as she waited outside. Her long, black lace skirt blew softly in the wind. She had no doubts that Lydia would follow up on her offer. She could see it in her eyes that the girl was desperate for any insight into what she was. She looked down at her watch, it had been almost ten minutes since the bell had rung. Maybe she was wrong, maybe the girl didn't want to find out more about herself.

Clara began to walk away, she had waited long enough and could still make her bus if she hurried. She walked along the sidewalk directly beside the parking lot. She stopped as she heard the sound of an engine creep up behind her. She looked over and saw a shiny, black car that probably cost more than three of the teacher's cars combined. She could see a shadowy figure inside the car but not much else. Slowly, the passenger seat window began to roll down.

"Get in," Lydia said, unlocking the doors with a click. Clara smiled to herself as she gracefully slid into the passenger's seat. She knew the girl would make the right choice.

* * *

Stiles and Scott sat silently in the chemistry lab with Mr. Harris for after school detention. They both stared blankly into their textbooks, trying their best to look busy. Harris had his face buried in his iPad as usual and seemingly wasn't paying too much attention to the boys.

"What do you think Clara was trying to find?" Stiles whispered as quietly as he could.

"I don't know," Scott answered. "But it must be important if she killed her."

"Quiet!" Mr. Harris shouted without even looking up from his tablet.

Stiles leaned in closer to Scott and tried to whisper even softer than before. "And why does she have a sudden interest in Lydia? Do you think she knows she's immune?"

"Stilinski," Mr. Harris cried. "Back corner now,"

"Aww, come on," Stiles muttered under his breath. He got up from the table he shared with Scott and moved his things to the table in the last row by the file cabinets.

Not being close enough to communicate, Scott sat by the window and stared out of it with a blank expression.

"Quit daydreaming McCall," Mr. Harris said, slapping his ruler against his desk. Scott snapped out of his daze and looked down at the textbook in front of him. But he couldn't help but to look back out the window as something caught his eye. From a distance he could see Clara walking around the parking lot. He wondered why she was still there and not on her bus. He reached into the pockets of his jeans and pulled out his phone. He kept his hands under the table, trying not to get caught while he texted. Seconds later Stiles felt a faint buzz. He pulled out his phone and read the text from Scott.

_Look out the window,_ the text said. Stiles looked at Scott and then out the window. He saw Clara effortlessly drifting down the parking lot in her heels. He watched as a black car pulled up to the curb beside her. A knot formed in his stomach when he recognized it as Lydia's. No, he thought to himself as he saw Clara get into the car with her. Then they drove off and soon were completely out of sight.

_What is she doing?!_ Stiles texted Scott.

_We need to follow them,_ Scott replied.

Thinking on his feet Stiles raised his hand, almost jerking out of his seat.

"What Stilinski?" Mr. Harris said.

"Can I go to the bathroom?" Stiles asked.

"No," the chemistry teacher said, rolling his eyes at the boy.

"What am I supposed to do, just sit here and pee my pants?"

"There's a mop in the supply closet if you think it will really come to that," Mr. Harris said, unamused. "You can pee all you want after detention."

Defeated, Stiles sat back down and stared at the clock for the rest of the hour. He tried his hardest to will the clock to move forward to no avail. It was times like these that made him wish Scott had been bitten by a telekinetic rather than a werewolf.

Finally the alarm on Mr. Harris's phone went off, signaling the end of their detention. Once they were dismissed the two boys ran to Stiles jeep and drove frantically out of the parking lot. Scott stuck his head out of the window and directed Stiles by scent.

"Turn here," he said after they had been driving down the main road for several minutes. Stiles turned off of the road and into the forest. The ground under the car was muddy and he wondered how Lydia's dainty car had survived in it. They drove for a few more minutes until the forest ground became too much to drive in. Stiles stopped the car and parked it out of sight behind a large bush. They got out of the car and began to make their way on foot.

"They must be somewhere near by," Scott said. He looked closely at the ground and pointed out some tire marks that then lead to two sets of footprints that were indented into the mud. The air smelled heavily of Lydia's perfume. They followed her tracks deeper into the woods.

"Ow," Stiles cried. Scott looked over at his friend who was lying in the mud.

"What happened?" Scott called over to him.

"I don't know," Stiles replied, confused. "It's like I-"

All of a sudden Scott crashed into something head first.

"Hit a wall," Stiles finished slowly.

"What the hell was that?" Scott said, getting up from the ground. He stretched out his hand and touched what felt like a wall of glass. "No way," he said to himself in disbelief.

"She's put some kind of force field up," Stiles said as he joined his friend in touching the invisible barrier in front of them.

"What do you think they're doing?" Scott asked.

"Probably some kind of human sacrifice," Stiles said dramatically. "We need to get in there," he added. Then he proceeded to ram himself into the clear wall. He clutched his shoulder in agony as he slid to the ground.

"Somehow I don't think that's going to work," Scott said.

* * *

Clara and Lydia stood facing each other in the middle of the forest. The tall trees blocked the sun, making everything appear darker than it was. The light breeze rustled the leaves and provided a chill that turned the girls' cheeks a soft pink shade. Clara listened attentively as Lydia told her about the ordeal she had been through with Peter Hale.

"So you were bit by a werewolf and you didn't turn or die?" Clara said in disbelief. "How interesting."

"I wouldn't really call it interesting," Lydia replied. "More like terrifying, confusing-"

"Lucky," Clara interrupted. "You're very lucky. To become a werewolf is one of the worst curses one could endure. They're dangerous creatures and they're not to be trusted."

"But Scott is so-"

"Nice?" Clara finished. "Let's see how long that lasts. He may be all about kindness and justice now, but that will soon fade. The animal will take over. It happens to all of them eventually."

"Why do you hate them so much?" Lydia asked. She too had mixed feelings about them. Werewolves had both tried to kill and save her on multiple occasions. But there was still part of her that resented them. The part of her that missed the days when werewolves were just mythical beasts in books and movies.

"They are responsible for the deaths of my family," Clara replied. "My mother, father, uncles, aunts, everyone. They betrayed us, and my grandmother and I were the only ones who survived. One friendly werewolf doesn't erase all of that."

"I'm sorry," Lydia said softly.

"Don't worry yourself about it," Clara said. "That's not why we're here. We're here to see what you are capable of."

"Do you think I'm a witch?" Lydia asked.

"I'm not sure, to be honest. It seems like you have some kind of immunity," Clara began. "But why?"

"That's what I was hoping you'd tell me," Lydia said.

"My grandmother always-"

"What the hell was that?" Lydia interrupted, whipping her head around as she heard a loud thump behind her.

"Looks like someone's walked right into us," Clara said, smirking.

"Stiles what are you doing here? Did you follow us?" Lydia shouted.

"They can't hear you," Clara stated. "Or see you."

"What do you mean?" Lydia asked, a confused look spreading across her face.

"I put up a barrier," Clara explained. "We can't exactly be seen, can we? They'll think were a couple of witches."

"But it's just an illusion?" Lydia said as she watched the two boys repeatedly run into the barrier.

"You catch on quickly, Ms. Martin," Clara said. "Like I was saying, my grandmother always told me stories about people who could not be affected by the powers of other beings. Not much is known about them but they were special and pure, which made them the best vessels for supernatural energy. Since it couldn't hurt them, they could harness so much of it. They could do whatever they set their minds to."

"And you think I might be one of these special people?" Lydia replied.

"Yes," Clara answered. "You're a genius, Lydia. You have barely begun to test the limits of your mind. Though a select few, like myself, are born with innate abilities that make them more powerful, magic is ultimately a craft; it has to be learned. With me you can learn to do great things. We just have to see if you really do have the gift first."

"How do we see if I do?" Lydia questioned.

"We test you." Clara extended her hand towards the earth. A small, green leaf slowly lifted up from the ground and floated up towards her. She plucked it out of the air and held it out in front of her, allowing Lydia to examine it. "Let's start with the basics," she said as she positioned her eyes firmly on the leaf. She stared at it with a burning intensity and then said the word "incendier," _burn_. Then, all of a sudden, bright yellow flames burst out of the leaf, charring it to ashes. Lydia jumped back, astounded and slightly frightened by what the girl just did. Clara let the fire burn out with the wind and watched as the ashes fell to the ground. Then, as if a rewind button was pressed, the ashes floated back up from the ground and began to reassemble themselves until they formed the green leaf yet again. "Your turn."

Lydia stretched her hand out and took the leaf from the girl. She looked in Clara's eyes and then back down at the leaf. "Incendier," she said to herself, over and over again.

"Concentrate," Clara instructed. "See it in your mind and let it become real."

"I am," Lydia replied, keeping her eyes on the leaf. She tried to imagine the leaf burning in her mind. Nothing happened. The leaf remained in her hand as green as it was when she first picked it up. "I can't do it."

"Yes you can," Clara stated with conviction. "Think about what makes you angry. What burns a fire inside you."

Lydia closed her eyes and began to think. Now that she was trying to remember all the things that made her angry they wouldn't come to her. 'Just clear your mind,' she thought to herself. She breathed slowly and steadily, like she had learned in her yoga classes. After a few minutes her mind finally stopped racing. Then, like a flash of lightning, an image appeared in her head. It was Peter Hale, his face charred and bloody. She began to boil inside as she thought of what he had done to her. She began to feel a warm sensation creep through her body. It traveled upwards and stopped at her hand. She opened her eyes to see the leaf was engulfed in golden flames.

"I did it," Lydia whispered to herself, completely in shock.

"Now stop it," Clara instructed. Lydia tried to put the fire out with her mind but the flames only grew higher. She screamed and in one swift motion Clara grabbed the burning leaf out of her hand and crumpled it up in hers like it was a piece of paper. She opened her hand and softly blew the black ash off of it.

"That was good," Clara said.

"Good! I nearly burned my hand off," Lydia shouted.

"But you have the gift," Clara said with a small smile. "Anyone one can figure out there is supernatural energy in this world. Only a special few can actually use it."

"I think I've had enough for the day," Lydia said. She was breathing hard and fast and the fire had taken a lot of energy out of her. "I'll give you a ride home."

"No it's alright. I have some business I want to attend to. You should head that way," Clara said, pointing her hand out before her. "Then you won't be seen."

"Ok," Lydia replied. She got into her car and drove off into the forest until she was completely out of sight.

* * *

Stiles and Scott walked back to the Jeep through the thick mud. They hadn't been able to find Clara and they were worried what she might have done to Lydia. Wet and covered in dirt, the two boys climbed into the old car and began to drive through the thick mud. It was completely dark now and the only lights for miles were provided by Stile's Jeep. The rain was pouring down heavily and Stiles could barely see out of the window.

"Maybe she knew we were on to her," Scott said as he climbed into the car.

"Yeah," Stiles replied. "She clearly didn't want to be found."

"She's clever," Scott added. "No wonder she's drawn to Lydia."

"We need to find her," Stiles said as he steered the vehicle through the woods. His grip on the wheel was tight, it showed his frustration and anxiety. "And make sure she's ok."

"We will," Scott said. He hoped nothing had happened to the girl, but if the last year had taught him anything, it was that no one was safe.

All of a sudden Scott lurched forward. He began to peer attentively through the windshield.

"What?" Stiles said, worried.

"I thought I saw something," Scott replied. Without warning, Stiles slammed on the breaks, causing both of their hearts to jump.

"There's definitely something out there," Stiles cried. Both boys held their breath as a dark, shadowy figure had suddenly appeared out of nowhere. Once the figure got close enough they were able to make out its features in the bright headlights. It was Clara standing in front of the Jeep with her arms folded against her chest. She had that dark glint in her eyes that gave Scott and Stiles an uneasy feeling.

Once Scott recovered he flung open the door of the Jeep and jumped out, sinking into the mud. The rain fell down hard on his head as he stepped towards Clara, who curiously was not getting wet. It was as if she had an invisible umbrella that protected her.

"We could have killed you!" Scott shouted.

"Please," Clara scoffed. "Like you're concerned about my safety, werewolf."

"My name is Scott," he said. "Where's Lydia?"

"I don't know," Clara stated, widening her eyes into a look of faux innocence.

"What did you do to her?" Stiles shouted.

"That's between me and Lydia," she said firmly.

"What do you want with her?" Stiles added.

"Why do you think I want anything from her?" Clara snapped.

"Uh, I don't know, because your an evil witch!" Stiles cried. She hadn't touched him at all but with a flick of her wrist he felt as if he had been slapped in the face with something burning hot. "Ow!" he yelled as he clamped his hand to his cheek and doubled over in pain.

"You wan't to call me that one more time?" Clara said in a low, angry tone, her big, green eyes glowing dully as her mousy hair blew in a gust of wind.

"Don't hurt him," Scott shouted, stepping between them. He had partially shifted into his werewolf face out of defense.

"Don't come near me, werewolf," Clara stated, aggressively extending her arm out in front of her.

"I don't want to hurt you, so don't give me a reason to have to," Scott said.

Clara laughed. "Cute, a werewolf who thinks he's a pacifist," she snarked. "You're lying to yourself if you think you want to do anything but tear me apart."

"Which might not be such a bad idea," Stiles muttered under his breath, prompting Scott to shoot him a look.

"You need to stay away from me," Clara said sharply. "You don't want to find out what I'm capable of."

"Oh, like we don't already know," Stiles shouted.

"I'm done here," Clara said, rolling her eyes.

"No, this isn't-" Scott began, taking a step toward her. All of a sudden a thunderous noise rang through his ears and his eyes were clouded with a black smoke. He managed to open his eyes after a split second and waved some of the smoke away from his face with his hand. Clara had vanished and was no where to be seen. All there was left was a ring of fire that blazed where she had stood. "-over," Scott finished as he stared at the flames.

"Show off," Stiles mumbled.

* * *

**Oooh that was a long one! Please leave a review/comment/whatever you want down below****!**

**See you next week as the mystery continues.**


	7. Skin

**Hi everyone! Wow, it has been a very long week, but here is the next chapter as promised :)**

* * *

**Chapter 7: Skin**

Stiles drove down the long stretch of road for miles in darkness. They knew they had finally reached town when they saw the light that shined from the gas station. The night had been a complete disaster and they were no closer to finding out what was going on with Clara or what she did with Lydia. Scott was drifting off against the passenger seat window when the scent of something familiar caught his attention.

"Wait, wait," Scott began, jerking up in his seat. "Turn there," he added, pointing at the light up sign that read "Gas."

"Why," Stiles said, slightly annoyed. "I have a full tank."

"No, look" Scott said, pointing towards a black car that was parked by a gas pump. "It's Lydia."

The boys turned into the gas station and pulled up beside her car. She was standing in front of a pump, a bored expression plastered on her face as she examined her nails while waiting for her tank to fill.

"Lydia, you're ok!" Stiles cried in relief as he jumped out of his Jeep.

"What?" Lydia said, looking around for the source of the sound. Once she saw the familiar blue Jeep she sighed heavily. She wasn't in the mood for the boy's eagerness. "Of course I'm ok."

"We saw you go off into the woods with Clara," Scott began. "We thought you might be-"

"Dead?" the girl said bluntly. "I know you followed us."

"What? How?" Stiles asked.

"I saw you," Lydia said. "We both did. Why the hell were you following us?"

"Uh, we just-" Stiles began.

"Thought I needed saving?" Lydia finished. "Because that's who I am to you, the girl who can't help herself."

"No, that's not true," Scott said.

"Look, Lydia," Stiles said. "Clara's insane. She's not safe to be around."

"Insane? That's rich coming from the boy who happens to turn up at every crime scene in town," Lydia retorted, her stare burrowing into the boy.

"Lydia listen, she killed someone," Stiles blurted out.

"Yeah, after the game last night," Scott added.

"And why would she do that?" Lydia questioned, clearly doubting the boys' information.

"I don't know, because she's evil!" Stiles said.

"Stiles, I don't believe you," Lydia replied as she pulled the gas pump out of her car and placed it back into its slot.

"How could you not believe me?" Stiles said.

"Do you have any evidence," Lydia inquired, raising her eyebrows.

"Yes, as a matter of fact we do," Scott said, pulling one of Madame Esmerelda's business cards out of his pocket. "It was a psychic who was killed and Clara had this in her bag."

Lydia reached her hand in her purse and pulled out an item. She held it out in front of her face, showing it off to Scott and Stiles. It was a business card, identical to the one Scott held in his hand.

"I have one too," Lydia said. "Maybe I killed her."

"What? Why do you have that?" Scott asked.

"When I was having all of those creepy visions I went to see a psychic," Lydia said. "Admittedly one of my few lapses of judgement."

"Lydia, I know you don't believe us but were telling you the truth-"

"Truth," Lydia said, raising her voice. "When have you two ever told me the truth? You left me in the dark for months. I thought I was going insane. Clara has been completely honest with me since day one. And right now, frankly, I trust her more than you. Now, just stay away from me, ok?"

"Lydia," Stiles began, but he was cut off by the sound of her car door shutting. Then she drove off into the night, her car disappearing amongst the lights of the city.

* * *

Derek walked cautiously through the forest, the glow of the morning sun casting a sharp light on his pale face. The woods were silent this time of day, save for the sound of birds chirping and trickling water that could be heard from a distance. Peter trailed beside him, carefully observing the environment that surrounded them. Suddenly, he veered off track and strolled up to the trunk of a tall tree.

"Here," Peter said, breaking the silence that they had been submersed in. "This is where I found it." Lying under the tree was a dead mountain lion. Its body completely skinned and the rest of it was torn and slashed, revealing its innards. The poor creature was mangled from a killing that could only be described as savage.

"A mountain lion," Derek said in his usual exasperated tone of voice. "This is what you wanted to show me?"

"No, God," Peter began. "How is it that you once actually defeated me? Look closer."

Derek leaned down nearer to the animal. Its revolting smell violated his nose as he got close. He painstakingly observed the slashes on the body.

"Not werewolf," he said.

"Good job," Peter mocked. "Forget being the alpha, you should just open your own detective agency."

"You do remember that I am allowing you to live, right?" Derek retorted. The power dynamic between him and his uncle had grown increasingly complicated the past few months. Tensions between the two were high, to say the least. Peter wasn't nearly as strong as he used to be, but he was just as irritating. "The claw marks look almost feline," he continued, lifting up the paw of the animal and examining its claws. "But they're way too big and too deep have been another mountain lion."

"Exactly what I was thinking," Peter replied.

"What do you think it is then?" Derek asked.

"I don't know, I've never seen anything like it." Peter said. "Maybe a new shapeshifter in town."

"Werecat?" Derek said.

"That's what I thought at first, but they're never this brutal," Peter said. "I once dated a werecat. They're very clean when they attack...very clean."

Derek wondered what kind of woman could ever date his uncle. He shook the thought away and turned his focus back to the animal. "They wouldn't have skinned it either."

"True," Peter agreed. "My second thought was maybe a skinwalker."

"I thought those were just myths," Derek stated.

"I don't know about myth," Peter said. "According to Native American folklore, skinwalkers are supposedly humans who have gained control of an animal by procuring its pelt and enhancing it with dark magic. With the right kind of knowledge, a person can teach themselves to skinwalk and become anything they want. If they're powerful enough they can become larger than life. That would explain both the flaying and the size of the claws. There are a few tribes around here, we could get a second opinion...If they're willing to help, which is doubtful."

"We should show Deaton first," Derek said. He took out his phone and began to snap some pictures of the animal that lay dead before him.

"You go ahead," Peter replied. "That guy does not like me."

"Wonder why?" Derek said sarcastically.

"It might have to do with that chair I threw at him," Peter answered.

"Yeah, I'm sure it was the chair," Derek said. Suddenly he heard a strange noise causing him to whip around. He surveyed the stretch of forest behind him, but there was nothing. "Did you hear that?" Then he heard the noise again. Now both Hales were on the defense with claws and teeth displayed menacingly. They looked at every inch of forest they could see, but still there was nothing.

All of a sudden Peter was knocked down to the ground. Blood started to seep through his white t-shirt out of the jagged claw marks that now lined his back. He slowly started to get back up onto his feet. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a blurry streak of motion move past him and then vanish out of sight. A split second later Derek was on the ground wrestling with a giant beast.

It clawed at him, bloodying his face and body. Peter ran towards the beast and lunged at it in an attempt to free Derek from its weight. But with a swift kick of its hind legs it sent Peter flying, crashing spine first into a tree. Derek's eyes glowed red with rage as he tried to fight the beast. He stuck his own razor sharp claws into its side, causing it to release an earth-trembling roar in Derek's face. It pinned Derek's arms down and began to thrash wildly. The animal had clawed through Derek's chest so badly that some of his ribs were now exposed. He had managed to unpin his arms from his side and use them to block his face but it was hardly any use.

Suddenly he heard an ear-splitting bang and a second later felt the weight of the beast lift off of his body. He opened his eyes to see the beast skitter into the forest and disappear out of sight. Derek looked around to see what had frightened the creature off. He looked up and saw a large man towering above him. It was Chris argent, a gun in his hand and a stony look on his face.

"What was that?" Argent said as he extended a hand to Derek, pulling him up to his feet with sheer force.

"We don't know," Derek answered. Instinctively he began to brush the dirt off of himself, not that it would help considering his clothes were soaked in blood. "What are you doing here?"

"A thanks would have sufficed," Argent said bluntly. "I was patrolling the area. Got a call saying there was a savage animal attack."

"And whenever there's an animal attack, Chris Argent's on the case," Peter said mockingly. "It's not a werewolf this time, sorry to disappoint."

"It certainly was not," Chris replied, furrowing his brow into a quizzical expression.

* * *

"So it just attacked them out of nowhere?" Scott asked as he pulled his books out of his locker.

"Yeah, early this morning they were in the woods. It just sprung itself on them," Isaac answered. "They said it was real grizzly too. It tore Derek's chest open."

"How'd they get away?" Stiles inquired.

"Argent shot it."

"Why was Argent even there?" Scott wondered.

"He said he was patrolling," Isaac explained. "Got word there was an attack, so he went to investigate. Lucky for Derek I guess, that he had something else to shoot besides him."

The boys fell silent as they noticed a familiar figure moving towards them. It was Clara, clad in a black, long sleeved lace dress. As she walked passed she turned her head towards the boys, giving them a devilish smile that sent chills down their spines. They all looked down the hallway, watching Clara as she walked. She stopped by Lydia's locker and the two girls began to talk like they had always been friends.

"How can she walk around here acting like she's this little angle," Stiles said.

"Do you really think that skinny little thing attacked Derek and Peter? And the psychic?" Isaac asked.

"Well, we know she was at the psychics, she hates werewolves, why wouldn't it be her?" Stiles retorted.

"I wish we had better evidence," Scott added. "We can't really justify doing anything at this point. For all we know it could have been someone else. I don't want another 'Lydia is the Kanima' repeat."

"Then what are we gonna do?" Isaac said.

"Catch her in the act," Stiles said as he slammed his locker shut.

* * *

Clara casually strolled up to Lydia's locker and leaned against the wall. Lydia was touching up her mascara, but she quickly put it down as she noticed Clara. She turned her head towards the girl, giddy with excitement.

"I've been practicing," Lydia said, a smile spreading across her face.

"Teacher's pet," Clara teased.

"I lit my bunsen burner all by myself. And I put it out. Elemental manipulation is a very convenient skill to have."

"It really is," Clara said. "We can practice again today. I can show you how to freeze water or make things float."

"Ooh, can you teach me how to make my hair curl by itself?" Lydia said, laughing.

"I think we could make that happen. But that's just the small stuff," Clara said. She reached inside her bag and pulled out a soft, leather bound book that had a taupe ribbon wrapped around it. She handed the book to Lydia, who examined it with keen eyes. "This book has all the basics. Everything you need to know before we take it to the next level. Just wait until we get to the fun stuff, like illusions and reading."

"Ooh, what's that, I'm intrigued,"

"You can read the history of an object just by touching it. Past owners, where it's been, everything. For example," Clara began to say as she picked up the bottle of mascara Lydia had been using earlier. She looked at it intently before beginning to speak again. "This tube of mascara was made in Canada. It was later tried on in the store by three different people before you bought it last Wednesday."

"Oh my God, that's disgusting," Lydia said, throwing the bottle back into her locker.

"It works on people too, but that's a bit advanced," Clara continued.

"Sounds fun," Lydia replied. "Let's go to my house this time. All that mud totally ruined my suede shoes. I'll pick you up after seventh period."

"Oh wait," Clara said. "I just remembered I have to do something for my grandmother after school. It won't take long. I'll meet you at your house around six."

"Sounds good. Want to walk to class?"

"Of course," Clara said. Lydia pulled the strap of her bag over her shoulder and then linked her arm with Clara's. Their heels clicked against the tile as they stepped in synch with each other. Everyone turned to stare at them as they walked down the hallway. Who was this new girl and how was she friends with Lydia Martin so suddenly?

* * *

The evening sun was setting as Clara walked down the streets of Lydia's ritzy neighborhood. She observed the houses as she strolled along, they were all so large and suburban. They were nothing like the house she lived in. She wondered what it was like to be able to just live out in the open. To not have to charm your house into looking like a shack to hide the wonders that were inside of it.

Once Clara found the right house, she walked up the steps to the door and rang the bell. She could hear the sound of barking after the bell chimed. Lydia opened the door, a tiny dog with a pink bow attached to it nipped at her feet.

"Down Prada," she snapped. "Sorry about her. Come in." She moved aside and gestured for Clara to enter. Lydia's house was quite lovely, Clara thought. It had wide windows and big open spaces. Everything was much simpler, unlike the lavishly ornate stylings of the Delacroix house. Lydia led Clara upstairs and to her bedroom. "Mom, don't bother us, we're studying," she called out before closing the door.

"So what were you up to earlier?" Lydia casually asked, referring to the errand Clara had mentioned.

"Oh, just doing something for my grandmother," Clara said. "Visiting one of her old friends at the hospital, boring stuff."

"She couldn't do that herself?" Lydia asked. She couldn't work out if Clara was telling the truth or not. The girl seemed to go a little bit shifty every time her grandmother was mentioned.

"She doesn't like to leave the house much," Clara explained, growing bored of the conversation. Quickly she changed the subject. "Have you looked at the book I gave you?"

"Yes," Lydia said, grabbing the book off of her bedside table. "Looks like a great excuse to put my French to use."

"C'est vrai, " Clara said, smiling at the other girl. "So what do you want to learn today?"

"How about levitation?" Lydia suggested.

"Nice choice," Clara replied. "Let's start with something light." She walked over to Lydia's desk and grabbed a small item off of it. It was a paper crane, made out of thick, silver paper. With the crane she walked back to Lydia's king sized bed and sat down, crossed legged. "Ok," she began to explain. "The trick to levitation is to feel light yourself. Like gravity doesn't exist anymore. And then say 'léviter.'" As she said the words, the crane began to float above the bed.

"Incroyable," Lydia remarked as she watched the crane linger in front of her face.

"Now you try," Clara said, letting the crane fall onto the bed.

Lydia closed her eyes and began to relax her mind. "Think weightless," she thought to herself. Then she said the magic word. She opened her eyes and was disappointed to see that the crane was still perched on her floral sheets. She inhaled slowly and tried again. "Léviter," she said again. Still, the crane did not move. "I said, léviter," she said once more, this time frustration showed in her tone of voice.

"It helps to relate it to something you've felt before," Clara advised.

Lydia closed her eyes once more. After a few moments her mind began to wander back to when she was a little girl, about seven or eight. Her parents were still together and they took her to this fair in the park. Her father surprised her with a ride in a hot air ballon. She remembered what it felt like to float away into the sky in the balloon. It was almost like being weightless. "Léviter," she repeated, this time in a whisper. She opened her eyes and looked down. She did not see the crane sitting on the bed, or hanging in front of her. She watched as Clara pointed upwards with her index finger. Lydia tilted her head back and smiled as she saw the crane levitating above the bed, almost touching the ceiling.

"You really are a natural," Clara said softly.

The two girls spent the next three hours practicing all sorts of different tricks. Lydia was picking everything up very quickly. Clara was excited to finally have a friend she could share her craft with. She had almost lost track of time before she looked at the clock that hung over Lydia's desk. It was completely dark outside.

"I have to get going," Clara said as she began to gather her things. "Grandmother would want me home soon."

"Aww, that's too bad, we were really on a roll," Lydia replied. "See you tomorrow?"

"Definitely," Clara answered. She thought for a moment and debated weather or not she should say what was in her mind. Then she began to speak. "Actually, there's something I think you might be able to help me with."

"Ooh, what kind of thing?" Lydia asked, intrigued.

"I need to open something," Clara began. "It's locked with magic and there's a spell I want to try to open it with. It's more powerful if two preform it."

"What are you expecting to find?"

"I'm not sure," Clara said with ambivalence. She knew the box was none of her business, but she couldn't help but be curious. "Tomorrow after school, I'll meet you by your car."

"Sounds good," Lydia said with a smile. Then she showed the girl out and Clara made her way home.

* * *

**Thanks so much for reading. Please leave a review down below!**

**Next week there will be much more of the boys, and some Isaac/Clara interaction...**


	8. Evidence

**Hi everyone! Here is the next chapter, full of Isaac as promised :)**

* * *

**Chapter 8: Evidence**

Scott and Isaac sat quietly at Scott's kitchen table, textbooks and loose sheets of paper sprawled out before them. They had been trying desperately for the last ten minutes to solve the equation in front of them and were growing more frustrated by the second. They were about to get into another argument about what the right answer was when they heard the sound of the door unlock. It was a much needed distraction and they listened carefully as light footsteps made their way towards the kitchen. It was Scott's mother, clad in her usual outfit of scrubs and white tennis shoes.

"Hi mom," Scott said, looking up from his studies.

"Hey Melissa," Isaac said.

"How was work?" Scott asked.

"Not the best day," she said as she pulled down her favorite cereal from the cupboard. She only ate cereal during non-breakfast hours when she was upset or really stressed out. She turned to look at him, her face looked especially tired.

"What happened?" Scott asked, getting up from the table and approaching his mother.

She hesitated a moment before she spoke. "One of our patients got attacked earlier today. He had been with us a very long time. We weren't prepared to see him go, at least, not like that."

"What do you mean, attacked?" Scott asked.

"We don't really know, it was so strange," Melissa began. "It was so...violent. He was cut up really badly. Almost like-"

"An animal did it?" Scott said.

Melissa paused for a second, as if she was considering it. But then she shook her head. "Don't be ridiculous Scott," his mother said. "An animal couldn't get into the fifth floor of the hospital unnoticed."

The two boys exchanged a worried look with each other. True, the likeliness of an animal getting into the hospital was low. But a person who transformed into an animal, very likely.

"I mean, it's just so scary that could happen at work," she continued. "He was such a nice man, who would want him dead so badly?"

"What was his name," Isaac asked softly. "If you don't mind me asking."

"I'm not allowed to say, it's still confidential," Melissa answered. "Ok, I'm going to go up to my room, down all this cereal and regret it in the morning. You two have fun doing math."

"Night mom," Scott said. He watched her as she exited the kitchen and went upstairs. When he heard the sound of her door close, he turned to Isaac. "You thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Sounds like Clara's been busy," Isaac replied.

"We need to get to the hospital now," Scott stated. Then walked towards the bottom of the stairs. "Mom," he yelled. "Can I borrow your car?"

"What, why? You need to do your homework," his mom called down.

"We're gonna go to Stiles' house to get help," he lied. "We're really struggling here."

"Ok, fine," Melissa said. "But that better be done by the time you get back."

"It will, promise," Scott said. Then he and Isaac ran out the door and drove to the hospital as quickly as they could.

* * *

Scott and Isaac waited impatiently in the parking lot for Stiles to show up. After about five minutes, they were relieved to see the bright lights of his Jeep. Stiles pulled into the parking space beside them and got out of his car.

"So what do we know?" he asked. The three boys began to make their way across the parking lot and into the hospital.

"Not much," Isaac began. "Just that he was attacked on the fifth floor."

"I say we look at the body first, make sure it was the same kind of attack," Scott said. "It should be in the morgue by now."

The boys walked into the main entrance of the hospital. It was swarming with cops who were interviewing people about the incident. Stiles looked around, making sure his father wasn't one of them. The last thing he needed was to be caught at another murder scene. When they figured the coast was clear, they snuck into the stairwell.

"Why couldn't we take the elevator?" Stiles said, exhausted from climbing several flights of stairs. "If you remember, one of us is lacking in super strength."

"Because we don't need people to see us," Isaac answered, rolling his eyes.

"We're almost there anyway," Scott said. The boys walked up a few more flights until they came to a metal door that read "7th floor: Authorized Personnel Only." The door lead them into a small hallway, which the morgue was at the end of. They began to walk towards the door when they heard footsteps. They hid around the corner and remained silent as they watched two men in long, white coats exit the morgue. One of the men had a set of keys dangling out of his pocket. Once the men were past the wall the boys were behind, Isaac swiftly reached out and grabbed the pair of keys out of the man's pocket. The men were completely oblivious and kept walking until they were out of sight.

"Who are you, the Artful Dodger?" Stiles quipped.

"Pickpocketing is an important skill when you're a parentless fugitive," Isaac replied, an amused smirk spreading across his face at the other boy's discomfort.

"Sometimes you really scare me," Stiles added.

Isaac unlocked the door and slowly opened it. There was no one living inside, so the boys entered. The morgue was dark and cold and the smell of death lingered in the air. The walls were lined with drawers, each one home to a body. Their attention was immediately turned to the table in the center of the room. The body was laid out in the open on a metal examining table, nothing but a white sheets covering it.

Isaac was the first to get brave enough to touch the body. He was used to dead people, as he practically grew up in a cemetery. He gently peeled back the sheet, revealing and old man. His body was torn apart, rows of claw marks were ripped through his skin and there were teeth marks near his neck that were inches deep. The boys shuddered as they looked upon the poor, elderly man.

"Claws are a match," Isaac said.

Stiles reached down towards the man's feet and grabbed the tag that dangled from his big toe. He shined the light from his phone on to it and began to read.

"Edmund Faust," he whispered.

"Why does that name sound so familiar?" Scott asked.

"The Fausts were one of the families Peter told us about," Isaac answered. "The ones that fled town after the Delacroixs were killed."

"Look, here's his file," Stiles said, picking up a manilla folder that sat on a small stand besides the examining table. He opened it and began to flip through the pages. "It says he was admitted in 1996 after being shot twice in the head. He was in a comma for ten years and woke up in 2006. He was severely paralyzed and suffered major brain trauma, which is why he was still in the hospital's care."

"I wonder why she did it?" Scott said. "It's not like he was a threat."

"Peter said their families all hated each other," Stiles added. "That sounds like motive to me. She attacked Derek and Peter, now him. She probably wants them all to pay for the deaths of her family."

"We should check out the security tapes," Isaac said. "Then we will know for sure if it really was her."

"Good idea," Scott said. "The security booth is at the back of the first floor. There's usually just one guard in it at a time. It should be easy to get past him."

Isaac placed the sheet back over the body of Mr. Faust and the boys proceeded to head to the security booth. They managed to sneak through the hospital unnoticed. They entered the security room, which was empty except for one man who sat in a smaller room within it. His eyes were fixed on a wall covered with monitors. Quietly, Scott snuck into the room. The man wheeled his chair around, and looked at Scott. He was a scrawny man who looked to be maybe a few inches shorter than Scott.

"You're not allowed in here, this is security staff only," he said.

"I'm sorry," Scott said, causing a confused look to spread across the security guard's face. Then he gave the man a swift punch to the face, knocking him unconscious. When they were given the signal, Stiles and Isaac entered the room. Scott wheeled the unconscious man out of the way and they began to look at the monitors. "He won't be out that long so we have to hurry."

Stiles began to mess around with some of the buttons on the control panel. After a few tires, he managed to bring up the footage from all the cameras on the fifth floor where the attack took place.

"His files said time of death was around four thirty pm," he said as he rewound the tapes to around that time.

"Wait, wait, stop it," Scott said in an urgent tone. Stiles paused the footage and they all leaned in closer to the monitor to get a better look.

"Bingo," Stiles said as he watched the screen. "That enough evidence for you?"

There Clara was, standing in the main hallway of the fifth floor. Stiles hit play on the machine and they watched as she walked down the hall and then out of frame.

"Switch it to the rooms," Scott instructed. Stiles began to switch the camera several times until they found the footage of Mr. Faust's room. They played the tape, waiting for something to happen. Then, just as they'd hoped, Clara walked into the elderly man's room.

"This could get R rated," Stiles said as they watched the tape, waiting for her to make her move. But then, all of a sudden the picture cut out and was replaced with grey static. "Oh come on!"

"Damn she's good," Isaac said. "She must have used her powers to tamper with the cameras."

"Uh, you think?" Stiles added sarcastically.

"Fast forward and see if anything happens later," Scott said. Stiles complied and hit the fast forward button. They waited with baited breath to see if the picture ever came back. Surely enough it did. Clara was no longer in the room. Instead, there was a nurse, screaming as she discovered the torn up body of Mr. Faust.

"Can you make a copy of this?" Scott asked.

"Not here, but my dad will have one at the station," Stiles confirmed. "I can sneak in and get one later."

"In the mean time, what are we going to do with our little murderess?" Isaac asked.

"We have to stop her," Scott said. "Tomorrow after school. I've got a plan."

* * *

Scott got up bright and early the next morning. He hated being up at this hour, but it was a necessary evil. He rolled out of bed and threw some clothes on, too tired to bother taking a shower. Like a zombie, he wandered downstairs and into the kitchen where he spotted his mother, drinking a cup of coffee at the kitchen table.

"Do my eyes deceive me, or are you really up this early?" she teased. Most days she had to pull the covers off of him to get him to wake up.

"Morning mom," Scott mumbled. Pouring himself a cup of coffee.

"Since when do you drink coffee?" his mother asked.

"Since I am about to fall asleep where I'm standing," Scott answered, a sleepy smile spreading across his face.

"Why are you up so early?"

"I, uh, need to head over to Deaton's," he began. "He needs help with a special thing so I said I'd do it."

"Oh, that's nice of you," his mother replied. "You want a ride?"

"Nah, it's alright. It's out of your way anyway," Scott said.

"You sure?"

"Yeah, don't worry about it. See you tonight." He gave his mom a kiss on the cheek and headed towards the door. The morning sun was bright and the cool air pinched his cheeks. He walked all the way to the vet's office where he normally worked after school. He entered the building and saw his boss, Deaton sitting behind the counter, ruffling through a stack of papers.

"What's up, Scott?" the man said, surprised to see him there at this hour.

"Oh, I uh forgot something in the back the other day," Scott said. "I need it for school so I thought I'd stop by and get it."

"Oh, go ahead," the vet said, gesturing for Scott to enter the back room.

Scott closed the door behind him and made his way towards the cabinet Deaton kept the medicine in. He reached for a clear plastic container and opened it. Inside of the kit were packets of sterile syringes and several vials of a liquid tranquilizer. He grabbed two of the bottles and a syringe and shoved them into his backpack. Next he opened another cabinet and found a jar full of mountain ash. He reached under the counter and found a large plastic bag. He then proceeded to pour some of the grey powder into the bag. He heard the door to the back room begin to open and quickly put away the container and shut the cabinet. He tried to look casual as he saw Deaton enter the room.

"Did you find it?" Deaton asked.

"What," Scott said sheepishly. "Oh yeah, my notebook, it was just on the counter."

"Did you hear about the thing that attacked Derek and Peter?" the vet began.

"Yeah," Scott said. "Isaac told me about it."

"Oh, how is Isaac? Is he staying out of trouble?" Deaton inquired.

"Uh, yeah, he's great," Scott replied. "So what exactly attacked them?"

"Well, we think it was a skinwalker," Deaton explained. "Before it attacked them it had skinned a mountain lion. We think it is using the animal's hide to transform into a beastlier version of it."

"Oh, like with magic?" Scott asked.

"Kind of," Deaton said. "It takes a very special set of skills to be able to skinwalk. It's not like lycanthrope. Skinwalkers can't turn at will naturally like you can."

"Do you think they'll be able to catch it?" Scott said.

"I hope so. But it's not going to be easy, judging by the damage it's capable of. Our best bet is to slow it down, then get it while it's in its human form."

"I'm sure they will catch it," Scott said, trying to sound optimistic. "Well, I have to get to school now."

"Ok, be careful out there," Deaton said as he watched the boy exit the room. He could tell he was up to something, but he didn't know what.

* * *

"So what's the plan," Stiles asked as he, Scott and Isaac sat on the floor at the back of the library during lunch. Scott opened his bag and took out the bottle of tranquilizer and syringe, holding them up to the other boys.

"We slow her down," Scott said, as he put the objects back into his backpack. He handed the bag of mountain ash to Stiles, the only member of the group who was able to use it.

"What are we gonna do with her after we catch her?" Isaac asked.

"That's the part I'm having trouble with," Scott said. "We can't just kill her-"

"Well what's your plan? Slap her on the wrists and tell her not to tear anyone open again?" Stiles interrupted.

"I don't know, maybe turn her over to the police," Scott answered.

"What are the police going to do with a she-devil?" Stiles quipped.

"I don't know!" Scott said again, frustrated. "We'll figure it out. We just need to stop her from killing anyone else."

"How exactly is this going to work?" Isaac asked. "I mean, we can't exactly drug her in front of a school full of people."

"That's where you come in," Scott replied, prompting Isaac to raise his eyebrows. "I need you to distract her."

"Um, what about the part where she hates me?" Isaac said.

"She hates us more," Scott answered. "At least she'll give you the time of day. I just need you to stall her."

"How?" Isaac asked, his tone laced with doubt.

"I don't know, be creative," Scott answered, slightly frustrated. "Just don't let her leave, ok."

"And what do I do?" Stiles asked eagerly.

"You drive the getaway car," Scott said.

"That's all I ever get to do," Stiles complained.

"Because you're the best at it," Scott said, trying to cheer up his friend.

"I am pretty good, aren't I," Stiles replied, smiling to himself.

"After school I need you to move your car around the back so no one will see us," Scott explained. "Isaac, I need you to bring her to the car after you tranquilize her. Be quick about it, ok?"

"Ok," Isaac responded.

The bell rang dismissing lunch and the three boys picked up their things and went their separate ways to their next classes, nervously awaiting the end of the day.

* * *

The last bell of the day had finally rung and students flooded the hallway in packs. Clara managed to push past the crowds and get to her locker. She opened it and began to pack up her bag for the rest of the day. When she was finished, she strolled outside into the student parking lot. She looked around and finally found Lydia in a sea of students who were eager to get home. Clara crossed the courtyard over to Lydia, who was leaning gracefully against her car.

"Your house or mine?" Lydia asked.

"Mine," Clara answered.

"Ooh, I get to see the famous Delacroix house first hand," Lydia said. "I feel special."

"You are," Clara said. "My grandmother doesn't let other people in the house. But she has some business across town so she won't be back until tonight. That gives us a few hours to try the spell."

"Awesome," Lydia replied as she opened the car door and began to climb inside. "Let's do this."

"Wait, sorry," Clara interrupted as she searched through her bag. "I left my phone in my locker. I'll be back in like, a minute I swear."

"Ok, hurry," Lydia sighed impatiently, tapping her painted nails against the steering wheel.

Clara entered the school once more and began to walk down the hallway. The once lively halls were now almost empty, but for a couple students who lingered in them. She approached her locker and began to open it. She twisted the lock several times, but it was stuck and would not open. "Typical," she thought as she struggled with the lock. She was about to just use her magic on it when she heard a voice call out from behind her.

"Need some help," the voice said. Clara jumped a little, thrown off by the voice that seemed to have come out of nowhere. She looked up to see Isaac's eyes staring down at her.

"I think I can manage," she said coldly. What was it with these werewolves, she wondered. It was as they could smell her broken lock a mile away.

"I didn't scare you did I?"

"Leave me alone," she said firmly as she attempted once more to open the lock. It still wouldn't open. Then, she felt his fingers brush against hers as he took the lock out of her hands. He effortlessly began to turn the dial, opening it with ease. Clara rolled her eyes, frustrated by her traitor of a lock.

"You're welcome," he said as he opened her locker door. She didn't respond. Instead she kept her eyes forward and began to search through her locker for her phone, which she placed in her jacket pocket. Slowly, the door began to close.

"Hey," she cried as she turned around to face the boy. All of a sudden he had her backed up against her locker. His left arm was outstretched beside her head, his hands firmly against the wall, creating a barrier with his body. The two were so close that they were almost touching.

"Why don't you like me?" he asked, a flirty smirk spreading across his face.

"You know the answer to that," she replied coldly as she tried to escape from the boy. But he was quick and stretched out his right hand, placing it beside her hip.

"Because I'm a big, scary wolf," he said.

"You're not big, you're just tall, and you're not scary, you're just a sidekick," Clara answered.

"Ouch," Isaac said sarcastically. "You really know the way to a boy's heart."

"If you don't mind I have somewhere to be right now," Clara said. Isaac quickly looked down the hall and noticed the other students who were still there. He needed more time to stall her so he shifted his weight, blocking her from moving.

"Don't you ever wonder what it's like?" Isaac said in a low, seductive voice.

"What what's like?" Clara sighed, exasperated. He was about two seconds away from reliving the pain of their first encounter at lunch a few days ago.

"Being with a werewolf," he added, brushing a strand of hair off of her shoulder, revealing her collar bone. He was looking dead into her eyes. Clara was dumbfounded and for a moment she genuinely didn't know what to say. He could hear her heartbeat begin to pick up and knew he'd struck a nerve.

"I need to go," she said firmly.

"I bet you've thought about it," the boy continued, leaning in closer to her so that he was whispering into her ear. She could feel his breath on her neck, causing each of the hairs on it to stick up. "About feeling something forbidden. Something dangerous."

Clara quickly turned her eyes away from him. She was determined to show him he could not get a rise out of her. She tried her hardest to block his words out of her mind, but it was difficult when his lips were practically brushing her ear.

"You've spent your life trapped in that house all alone," he said, running his fingers lightly down her neck. "Home schooled," he added with a slight scoff. "I'm sure I could teach you a few things-"

The sudden sound of a car horn caused her to look away, breaking his gaze and cutting off whatever suggestion he was going to make next. She remembered Lydia was sitting out in her car, waiting for her. She noticed that they were the only ones in the hallway now. Then, to her surprise, Isaac took his hand off of the wall behind her and shoved them in his pockets, clearing a path for her to move.

"Wouldn't want you to keep Lydia waiting," he said. Clara began to slowly move away from the boy. She kept her eyes on him, a look of suspicion etched into them. Once she was a good distance away, she turned her head forward and looked down the hallway as she walked. Then she felt a small prick on the side her her neck. She began to feel dizzy and the room started spinning. The bright, fluorescent lights of the school began to dance around her before they faded into blackness.

* * *

**Thanks so much for reading! Please leave me a review, I'm especially curious to know what you thought about this one!**


	9. Incident

**Hi everyone! Here comes the aftermath of last weeks Isaac/Clara time. **

* * *

**Chapter 9: Incident**

Clara's head pounded as she began to fade back into the world again. Slowly, she tried to open her eyes, but they kept shutting on her. At most she could get glimpses that appeared to her in blurs and streaks. She couldn't tell where she was or how she got there. She could barely hear a faint whispering, but couldn't tell if the voices were coming from near or far. Everything sounded muffled and her mind was barely clear enough to comprehend what the voices were saying.

"What do we do now?" the first voice said.

"We wait for her to wake up so we can get some answers," the second voice said.

"How long will that be? She's been out for like an hour. How much did you give her?"

"Not that much, I just gave her what you told me too."

"Just be patient, she should wake up soon."

"How do we know she's gonna talk?"

"We don't but we have to try to get something out of her."

"Wait, I think I saw her eyes flicker,"

As Clara's vision began to come back into focus, she noticed the shapes of three figures moving towards her. Once they got close enough she could recognize who they were. She wasn't surprised to see that it was the werewolves and their little friend. Once her vision came back to her she realized they were in some kind of abandoned warehouse. She tried to move, but soon realized that she was confined to a chair. Her hands were tied behind her back and her feet were tied to the chair's legs.

"What the hell do you think you're doing," she yelled at the three boys standing in front of her.

"You know why it's come to this," Scott said. "We had to stop you."

"Stop me from what?" Clara said, her voice thick with venom.

"From the murder spree you've been on," Stiles exclaimed.

"Murder spree? Are you insane?" Clara said, her eyes narrowing with contempt.

"We have evidence," Isaac said. "You killed the psychic and the man at the hospital, and you tried to kill Derek and Peter."

"I didn't kill any of those people, you idiots. And I don't even know who Derek and Peter are, let alone have I tried to kill them."

"Then how do you explain the business cards to Madame Esmerelda's shop that were in you're bag?" Stiles interrogated.

"You went through my bag?" Clara said in disgust.

"That's not important," Stiles replied.

"Esmé was a dear friend of my grandmother," Clara stated. "I've been to her shop countless times since I was a child. Why would I have killed her?"

"I don't know," Stiles said. "Because you're evil."

"It seemed like she had something you wanted," Scott began. "Based on the way you trashed the place."

"If I wanted one of her plastic crystal balls or bogus spell books I would have payed for it," Clara said, rolling her eyes. "I'm not exactly strapped for cash."

"The stuff behind the trap door didn't seem so bogus," Stiles replied.

"How do you know about that?" Clara inquired, her expression shifting to confusion.

"We happened to find it when we were searching the place," Scott said.

"I don't have to explain myself to you animals," Clara said. "When my grandmother finds out about this you will pay big time. Now let me go, or I swear I will-"

"What? Turn us into frogs? Well, you're powers are pretty much useless here," Stiles said, pointing out the circle of grey powder that surrounded the chair Clara was bound to.

"Mountain ash," Clara said. "It looks like you've found a way to make your little human friend not so...useless."

"I'm not useless," Stiles said, defensively. "I drive the getaway car."

"Focus," Scott said to his friend, shooting him a look. "What about the man at the hospital? Mr. Faust, why did you kill him?"

"Once again, genius, I didn't" Clara answered. She seemed to become more upset when they mentioned the man's name. "Someone else did."

"We saw you on tape at the hospital," Scott replied. "You went into his room and messed around with the cameras. Next thing he was torn to pieces. What were you doing in his room?"

"None of your business," Clara said defiantly.

"If you weren't doing anything sketchy, then why can't you tell us?" Isaac added.

"Because I don't have to answer to you," Clara said, her tone harsher with him than anyone else.

"We know about the feud your family had with his," Stiles added. "And the Hales. You think they killed your family, so now you're out to kill the rest of theirs, aren't you?"

"I don't care if you believe me or not," Clara spat with disdain. "You're just a bunch of dumb beasts who-"

All of a sudden Clara was cut off by a thunderous roar. It echoed off of the concrete walls and rang through their ears. Out of the corner of their eyes the boys could see a shadowy figure move past them. They all turned around at once to try to get a better look at the creature. With tremendous speed and strength it pounced at Scott, throwing him into the wall on the other side of the room. The sound of his ribs cracking could be heard as he hit the wall, sliding down it and landing on the floor.

Standing before them was a gruesome and terrifying creature that had the look of a mountain lion combined with a monstrous beast. Its eyes glowed red with rage as it barred its sharp, jagged teeth. It walked nimbly on all fours, its shoulder blades and ribs seemed to push against its tightly pulled skin with every step it took. Its face and body were cut up and scarred, and it had the manner of a dog raised to fight to the death. It was a complete abomination of nature.

By now Isaac was in full werewolf mode and was preparing his counter attack. He lunged at the beast, claws splayed out in front of him. But the beast charged at him full force, knocking him down to the ground with a loud thud. Isaac could feel his skin being clawed open as the creature thrashed at him. Scott finally managed to get back up and ran towards the beast. He attacked it from behind, trying to get it away from Isaac, but it was no use. The creature was much stronger than Scott and with its hind legs, it pushed hum off.

It turned its attention away from Isaac and began to stalk Scott, who was lying on the floor, writhing in pain. The beast opened its jaws and clamped its teeth down on Scott's side, piercing his flesh deeply. When it tore its teeth out of Scott's skin, blood poured out. Now, both Isaac and Scott were lying on the floor, defeated. Their bodies tried rapidly to heal, but the beast had done serious damage. They could barely move, let alone get up off of the floor.

Satisfied, the beast switched its focus elsewhere. Stiles was hiding behind a large wooden crate. He trembled with fear as the beast slowly, but menacingly moved toward him. It looked him dead in the eyes and roared, but then, to Stiles' surprise it walked away. He kept his eyes glued to the beast as it moved and watched as it made its way toward Clara. Clara was scared to death and screamed as it approached her. She was tied down to the chair and could not budge. At the moment she was completely powerless, and there was no one to come to her defense.

The beast had its sights set on Clara and it stared her down with vicious eyes and teeth on full display. It's claws were fully drawn and it began to prepare for its attack. It lunged at her, full force, but then something stopped it. The creature looked down at the ring of grey sand that encircled Clara. It stretched out one of its blood stained paws and prodded at the substance. Then it unleashed an angry, ear-piercing roar and then turned around, facing the others in the room. The beast had a look in its eyes like it was guarding something. With its knife-like claws it scratched the concrete ground, as if it was marking its territory. Then, with extreme speed and agility it pounced up the wall and escaped through a window.

"What the hell just happened?" Stiles panted out, still shaking as he began to stand up.

"We need to get out of here," Scott said as he slowly tried to get back on his feet. Every move he made sent searing pain through his body. He managed to get over to Isaac and help him up. "Clara, I'm so so-"

"Save it, McCall," Clara snapped.

"Stiles, break the circle and get Clara into the Jeep," Scott ordered.

"I'm not going anywhere with you," Clara yelled. She was crying, completely shaken with fear. But mostly she was angry at them for getting her into this mess. Stiles approached Clara and drew a line in the sand, breaking the circle of mountain ash that contained her. Then he leaned down behind her chair and began cutting the ropes with a knife. Once all of the ropes were undone, he tried to help her up, but she shoved him aside. "Don't touch me," she cried. "You idiots could have got me killed."

"I know, we were wrong, I'm sorry. But we can't let you go home alone with that thing out there," Scott stated firmly.

"It's not exactly like I'm safe with you either," Clara retorted.

"Please, just get in the Jeep and we'll take you home," Scott pleaded. "I don't want anyone getting attacked again."

Clara was silent for a moment. The last thing she wanted to do was spend another second with the three boys, but she knew he was right.

"Fine," she said with a heavy sigh as she climbed into the car. "But don't think that we're even remotely ok."

Once they were all in the car, Stiles drove off out of the warehouse and into the dimly light city streets of downtown. The entire ride was dead silent.

* * *

"What the hell were you thinking?" Derek yelled, the veins in the side of his neck throbbing with rage. "I told you to stay away from her."

"We know, we just-" Scott began.

"Though what? That you knew more than your alpha?" Derek shouted.

"We thought we had proof," Stiles answered. "It seemed impossible that it could be a coincidence but-"

"You need to stop trying to handle everything yourself," Derek stated. "You two keep creating these huge messes and-"

"We didn't mean to," Isaac began. But Derek shot his beta a harsh look and growled at his insubordination.

"Where is the girl now?" Derek asked.

"We took her home," Scott said. "She's fine, it didn't touch her."

"But it wanted to," Isaac added quietly.

"What do you mean?" Derek inquired.

"The way it looked at her," Isaac continued. "It was like we were just in its way. It wanted to get to her. It didn't even bother with Stiles."

"Most people wouldn't," Derek said, unable to resist a jab at the other boy.

"Now you're just being rude," Stiles quipped.

Derek rolled his eyes and continued. "Do you know of any other enemies she might have?"

"Not really," Stiles answered. "Her hatred seems to be really concentrated on us."

"I can't think of who it would be," Derek mused. "And more importantly, why it has come after us and now her."

"And the man at the hospital," Isaac added. "He was part of the other family that Peter told us about. Maybe it just wants revenge?"

"But for what though?" Derek said. "What happened between our families has been dropped for more than a decade. The rest of my family is dead, the rest of hers is too, and the Fausts fled town before anything bad happened to them. Who could be after revenge?"

"I don't know, but we need to figure it out," Scott said.

"No, I need to figure it out," Derek said firmly. "You need to just go to school and lacrosse practice and whatever else you do and stop trying to solve everything yourself."

"Derek," Scott replied. "When have you ever solved something without me?"

Derek narrowed his eyes in frustration and rubbed his forehead. "Your problem is that you think you know everything. But you don't McCall. You really don't." Without saying anything more, Derek marched off into a small room, slamming the door shut behind him.

* * *

Clara sat quietly on her favorite chair in the library. She had changed into a nightgown and her hair was still damp from washing it. It had been a long, eventful day and she just wanted to shut everything out of her mind. She heard the sound of footsteps climbing the stairs. Within moments her grandmother appeared in the doorway of the library.

"Clara, where have you been all evening?" her grandmother demanded.

Clara didn't know what to say. She wasn't sure if she should tell her the truth or not. She couldn't imagine what her grandmother would think if she knew she had gotten involved with a pack of young werewolves.

"I arrived home a short while ago and you were nowhere to be found," she continued. "And then you snuck in and didn't even say hello."

"I'm sorry, I, uh, got held up at school," Clara began. "With a study group."

"This late?" her grandmother inquired.

"Yes, they make us do a lot of group projects in public school," Clara said.

"Hmm," Ms. Delacroix mused. "School has changed drastically since my day."

"How was your trip?" Clara asked, trying to change the subject away from herself.

"It was fine," her grandmother replied. By the sound of her tone it seemed like she wasn't interested in talking about it. "I will be leaving again early tomorrow morning."

"What are these trips for?" Clara inquired.

"Just important business."

"Like what?"

"It is a confidential matter."

"Is there something going on? Something we should be concerned about?" Clara asked, hoping for any answer that could help her figure out what was going on.

"Clara, it really isn't any of your concern," her grandmother said severely. "And I do not wish to discuss it any further. Now, it's late, you should go to bed."

"Yes, grandmother," Clara said faintly. Then she exited the room with her head down, avoiding her grandmother's gaze. As soon as she entered her room, she climbed into bed. Her mind would not stop racing. What was her grandmother being so secretive about? Clara was becoming more suspicious every day. It seemed as thought her life now was full of mysteries and she could barely keep up. She thought back to the box she had brought home for her grandmother. All of the strange happenings seemed to have started the night she brought it home. She wanted to know what it contained even more now than ever before. She was determined to figure out what was going on. _

* * *

"Where the hell were you yesterday?" a high pitched voice rang out from behind Clara. She turned around to see Lydia, charging towards her faster than anyone should be able to in heels. She stopped right at Clara's locker and stood staring at her with her hands placed expressively on her hips. "I waited for you for like fifteen minutes and then you were gone."

"Why don't you ask your little werewolf friends?" Clara responded.

"What do you mean?" Lydia asked, confused.

"They kidnapped me," Clara replied.

"Like _kidnapped_ kidnapped?" Lydia said in disbelief. "As in threw you into an unmarked van with a sack over your head kidnapped?"

"More like into a second-hand Jeep," Clara answered exasperatedly. "After a bizarre attempt to seduce me, Lahey tranquilized me when I was getting my phone from my locker."

"Well that is a new low," Lydia replied, shaking her head.

"It wasn't just him. When I woke up I was in some shabby warehouse being interrogated by Scott and Stiles. They thought I was killing people," Clara explained. "Can you believe that?"

Lydia paused for a moment before she spoke again. "They had mentioned to me that they thought you killed someone, but I told them to stay away from you-"

"Why didn't you tell me that?"

"I didn't think they would actually do anything," Lydia answered. She thought they had learned their lesson from before. She began to think that maybe she shouldn't have given them so much credit.

"But then, we were attacked by some...thing. I don't even know what it was-"

The bell rang loudly throughout the hallway, signaling the abrupt end of their conversation.

"I have to go," Clara said as she pulled the strap of her bag over her shoulder. "I'll tell you more about it later I guess."

Lydia watched the girl walk away for a moment as she tried to process what she had just learned. She began to head towards the room for her next class, chemistry, which she unfortunately had with all three of the boys. She turned into the doorway of the lab and saw Isaac sitting at a table by himself. She strolled up to where he sat and slammed her hands on the table.

"What is wrong with you, Lahey?" she said bluntly.

"Nice to see you too," Isaac replied, his trademark smirk spreading across his face.

"Don't play dumb with me. I know what you did," she snapped, causing the smirk on the boy's face to disappear.

Isaac took notice of the other students filing slowly into the classroom. He leaned closer towards her and began to whisper, worried she would cause a scene. "Can we not talk about this here?"

"Oh were going to talk about it," she said.

"Talk about what?" Scott said, concerned. Stiles stood right beside him.

"She knows," Isaac stated.

"Lydia, it's not what you think," Stiles began. The thought of falling even farther out of Lydia Martin's good graces terrified him to the core.

"Really? Because it sounds like this one over here basically roofied her and threw her into a van," she said, gesturing towards Isaac.

"Ok, that's kind of pretty much what happened," Stiles sighed. "But it wasn't as...creepy as you make it sound."

"Seriously?" Lydia snapped, shooting Stiles a look that could burn a hole through him.

"Lydia, we weren't trying to hurt her," Scott began, trying to pacify the girl. "We just wanted some answers."

"Have you ever tried just asking?" Lydia said. "It's a really simple concept."

"It's not like we could have just walked up to her and said 'hi, are you a psychotic killer?'" Stiles said. Lydia rolled her eyes.

"I thought maybe you all had learned your lesson from last time," Lydia began. "But it seems like you werewolves are incapable of thinking before you act."

"You werewolves?" Scott said, slightly offended. "It seems like Clara's really rubbing off on you."

"Maybe that's not such a bad thing," Lydia replied, angrier now. "All you three have done for the past few months is ruin my life. At least Clara's been honest with me; tried to help me even. Unlike you."

"That's not fair," Scott stated.

"Save it, McCall," Lydia cried. All of a sudden the flames from the bunsen burner shot out. Lydia jumped back, a look of shock plastered on her face. She hadn't realized how angry she had become and wasn't expecting this at all. "Stop!" she said to herself as she frantically tried to put out the flame. But it was no use, the flame kept growing, her frustration seemed to be making it worse. Her heart began to beat even faster when she realized everyone was staring at her, again. Mr. Harris ran over to their table with a fire extinguisher and with a cloud of white foam the flame was put out.

"What are you idiots doing?" he shouted.

"I didn't touch it," Stiles cried.

"Oh, it just turned on by itself? I guess I should add pyromaniac to the list of your defects," Harris said. "Detention all of you. Even you, Ms. Martin. Now sit down."

Lydia quickly walked to the back of the classroom and took a seat far away from the three boys. She took out a pen and notebook from her bag and tried to act calm. All she wanted was for everyone to forget about this little incident; about all the little incidents that seemed to occur around her.

* * *

**And the plot thickens...**

**Stay tuned for next week's chapter! **

**Also, leave a comment and tell me what you thought! Are you liking the direction of the story?**

**Thanks for reading :)**


	10. Suspicion

**Hi Everyone! Thanks so much for continuing to read this. **

**Today's chapter is full of magic and mystery. Hope you like!**

* * *

**Chapter 10: Suspicion**

Once detention was released Lydia grabbed her things and got out of the school as quickly as she could. It had been a long day and she needed to get away from all of the craziness. She planned to go straight home, crawl into bed and watch endless amounts of reality TV. But that plan was dashed the moment she stepped out of the main doors and into the courtyard. There, she saw Clara sitting alone on a bench outside of the school. She was flipping through the pages of an antique looking book, which she looked up from as soon as Lydia had appeared outside.

"What are you still doing here?" Lydia called out as she approached the girl.

"Waiting for you," Clara answered, standing up. "My grandmother is away again today. It's the perfect time to try that spell."

"Oh yeah, that," Lydia said, unenthusiastically. "I don't know if I'm ready for more magic today."

"What do you mean?" Clara demanded.

"I almost burnt down the chemistry lab without even trying," Lydia cried.

"That's a good sign, it means that you're becoming more powerful," Clara said. "You just need to learn control."

"Don't you have other witchy friends who can help you?" Lydia sighed.

"No, same way you don't have any other genius friends," Clara replied. "We're not exactly common."

"Ok, fine," Lydia said. "But you so owe me an actual girls night for this."

"Deal," Clara said as they both climbed into Lyida's car. Lydia pulled out of the school's parking lot and into the street, heading for Clara's house.

"So tell me more about what happened the other day," Lydia said as she turned off of the main road onto the unpaved streets that lead towards the Delacroix house.

"Ugh," Clara sighed. "Well, I woke up in some sketchy warehouse tied to a chair, and they had put a ring of mountain ash around me so I couldn't use my-"

"Skip the boring parts," Lydia interrupted.

"Oh, do you want to know about the monster then?" Clara asked.

"Oh my God, you really are new at this," Lydia snapped. "I want details on the whole Isaac thing."

"Oh," Clara said, shying away from the topic. She would have liked to never talk about that incident again.

"Oh come on, I tell you everything," Lydia snapped. "Spill!"

"Nothing happened, he just stopped me at my locker,"

"Liar, you said he tried to seduce you," Lydia said, giggling. "What did he say?"

"Fine...He was like, 'I bet you've though about being with a werewolf,'" she said, mocking his tone and trademark smirk.

Lydia laughed, "Smooth, Lahey."

"And then he was all, 'I bet I could teach you a few things,'" Clara continued.

"I bet he could," Lydia teased.

"Lydia!"

"What?" Lydia said. "Like you've never thought about it. I've seen you look at him. Not that I approve. He's not exactly the stable one of the group."

"Because that would be you of course," Clara said, teasingly.

"Don't change the subject," Lydia said.

"And I don't look at him," Clara protested, a feeling of embarrassment creeping over her. "Besides, are we forgetting the fact that he kidnapped me?"

"Ok, fair," Lydia said. "But that is kind of what happens around here."

"And he's a werewolf, which means it's pretty much a definitive 'no,'" she said.

"Ok, point taken," Lydia replied. "I guess a girl's got to have standards."

"Turn left here," Clara added, pointing towards the dirt road. Lydia slowly pulled her car up to the derelict house. The tall house blocked the sun, causing a dark shadow to loom over them. It sent a slight chill down Lydia's spine. The girls got out of the car and stepped out into the unkempt yard, their heels sinking into the dead grass. Lydia watched as Clara began to make her way towards the house. Then Clara turned around when she realized Lydia wasn't following her. "Come on," she said, gesturing for the other girl to move. "It's not really haunted."

Lydia began to follow Clara up to the door of the house. Clara placed her hand on the door and a ring of symbols began to glow. The door creaked as it opened by itself, revealing the insides of the house. Lydia looked around in awe as she entered the Delacroix house. She was not expecting that inside the worn-down house was a lavish mansion. Everywhere she looked there was a crystal chandelier or a golden-framed painting. The marble staircase seemed to go on forever as they climbed to the upper floors of the house.

"I just need to grab a few things first," Clara said "Wait here." Then she disappeared into another room. Lydia stood silently in the grand hallway. She felt strange being all alone in the house. She kept expecting to see the eyes in the paintings follow her as she moved. She walked over to a nearby shelf and began to observe the bizarre objects that lined it. She noticed a small, gold figurine of a bird perched on the shelf. Curious, she stretched out her hand and lightly touched the object. It leapt out at her and flew up the wall behind her. Lydia couldn't help but shriek out of surprise.

"Don't touch that," Clara said as she returned from the other room, carrying a small box full of items. "It's really temperamental"

"Noted," Lydia whispered as she glanced up at the bird. "What is that even for?"

"I don't know," Clara said nonchalantly with a shrug. Clara began to lead Lydia down the hallway. "Come on, it's in here," she whispered as they stopped in front of a closed, wooden door. Clara pushed down on the handle and opened it, revealing a grand master bedroom.

"You're sure your grandmother's not coming back soon?" Lydia asked, nervous about trespassing. As nice as it was, there was still something about the house that gave her an eery feeling.

"I promise she won't be back till late," Clara answered. The two girls entered the bedroom and strolled up to the large, gold-framed painting that hung on the wall. Clara placed the box she was carrying on the floor and then proceeded to remove the painting from the wall, as she had seen her grandmother do weeks before. The weight of the painting was much more than she anticipated and she almost dropped it. Luckily, Lydia came to her aid and helped her set it down gently. Behind the painting was a metal door inscribed with gold writing. "Now comes the tricky part," Clara said. "There's a password. I couldn't quite make it out when I heard her say it the first time, but I've been doing some research." She pulled out the book she was reading earlier. "It's one of my grandmothers old diaries."

"You read your grandma's diary?" Lydia said.

"It's from the fifties, it's practically a historical document by now," Clara joked.

"So you think the password's in there?" Lydia asked.

"Yeah, I think it's this," she said, opening up the book and pointing to a passage. "It sounds similar to what I heard her say."

"Baie d'Audierne," Lydia read.

"It's this beach in France she went to with my grandfather after they got married," Clara explained.

"Romantic," Lydia interjected.

Clara handed Lydia the book and took one step closer to the vault. She placed her hand along the symbols as her grandmother had done and whispered the words. The metal beneath her hands began to glow, sending a warm sensation through her palms. She could hear gears begin to move within the door and after a loud "click," the door opened.

"I can't believe that worked," Clara said, releasing a heavy sigh. She reached into the safe and pulled out the heavy gold box. A wave of nervous excitement washed over her as she felt the mysterious box for the second time. She walked over to her grandmother's bed and sat down on the edge of it. Lydia quickly followed. Clara placed the box on the bed between herself and the other girl.

"So, what do we do now?" Lydia inquired.

Clara reached into one of her pockets and pulled out a folded piece of paper she had torn from another book. "I found this spell," she began to explain. "It's supposed to be able to unlock anything if you provide enough power. I figured with both of us it should work."

"What do you think is inside of that?"

"I'm not sure, but it's got to be very important. Grandmother's been very secretive about it. About everything really..." she trailed off. "Anyway, let's just try it and see what happens," Clara said as she reached inside the box she had brought up from the other room. She pulled out a glimmering, black stone and placed it in Lydia's hand. "This is hematite, it will ground the energy we summon." In her own hand she held a clear, yellow crystal. "And this is fluorite, it helps increase mental power." Then, Clara held out her other hand towards Lydia. "You ready?"

"Ok," Lydia said as she grabbed Clara's hand. She inhaled sharply as a powerful feeling traveled through her.

"Just concentrate," Clara said. "Focus all your energy on the task...Why are you closing your eyes?"

"I don't know, that just seemed like the witchy thing to do," Lydia replied.

"Now, repeat after me, slowly," Clara instructed. "Déverrouiller et révéler les secrets que vous gardez."

Lydia repeated the words and as the power began to take ahold of them, they began to chant faster and faster. Now, there was a bright light shining out of the keyhole. The glow became more intense and the box started shaking uncontrollably. There was a loud cracking sound as the lock burst open. The girls stopped chanting and watched aghast at what they saw. The lid of the box had burst open and a hazy green light filled the room. An ear-splitting shriek blared in their ears. The noise made them feel like their heads were about to explode. But the worst part was the terrifying feeling that coursed through their bodies. It was nauseatingly painful, like something was pulling at their insides. Clara looked over at Lydia and noticed the girl's nose was bleeding. She instinctively clamped her hand to her face and realized she was bleeding too. She managed to move through the pain and grab the lid with shaky hands. With all of her force she closed the box, suddenly silencing the room. The silence burned and was almost as disorienting as all the chaos that proceeded it.

"What the hell was that?" Lydia shouted. She was panting heavily. She looked down at the box and noticed that it had returned itself to its previous state, as if nothing had happened.

"Technically it worked. The box must have been hexed against intruders. Why didn't I think of that," Clara said, chastising herself. "Are you ok?"

"I'm fine," Lydia answered in a shaky voice as she wiped the blood away from her face with a trembling hand.

"I'm sorry," Clara replied. "I shouldn't have made you do this."

"It's ok," she said as she stood up from the bed. "I should go home." She was trying not to show it, but Clara could tell how freaked out she was. "I'll see you at school."

"Ok, bye," Clara said as Lydia exited the room and headed down the stairs. Clara listened to her shoes click against the wood floors. Then after the sound of the door shutting there was nothing else. Clara was worried she may have lost the only friend she'd ever had. She was still no closer to figuring out what her grandmother was up to either. She picked up the box with one hand and carefully placed it back in the safe. Then she tidied up the room attempting to leave no traces that she was there.

Isaac laid motionless in his hard bed, eyes wide open and staring blankly at the ceiling. He couldn't turn his brain off and just go to sleep. He kept thinking about the incident with Clara; how he had drugged her and accused her of murder. He felt like a complete idiot. His mind wandered back to him standing at her locker. The way he spoke to her, the way he touched her. He wanted to forget about it all, but he could not convince himself that the things he said were just lies to distract her. He did wonder if she thought about being with werewolves. And he thought about the ways he could make her forget about her hatred. He thought about it more than he should, but he couldn't help it. He couldn't figure out what it was about the girl that made him so restless.

His thoughts were interrupted by a bright spot of light shining in his face. He looked up and saw Derek standing in the doorway of his small room.

"Get up," Derek commanded. Isaac complied. It's not like he was sleeping anyway. A distraction from his thoughts was more than welcome.

"What's going on?" Isaac asked.

"Attack at the cemetery," Derek said, not bothering to elaborate.

Isaac took in a heavy breath. The cemetery was not a place he generally wanted to spend his nights. So much had happened in the last few months to get him away from all of that. Now it seemed strange to go back.

"Put a shirt on and be ready in two minutes," Derek added. Then he turned and headed out of the room.

Ten minutes later Derek and Isaac were standing out in the cold night air, their boots sinking slightly into the wet ground of the cemetery. A dead body lay on the ground before them. It was one of the night guards. A middle-aged man with a bony face and sunken eyes. Isaac recognized him from when he use to dig graves. He never said much and Isaac was always uneasy around him. Something about the look in his eyes was just never quite right. But now the look in his eyes was empty. The bottom half of his face was ripped off and he was covered in blood. His body was slashed open by claws and his ribs were poking through the torn skin.

A few feet away from the body was a large pile of dirt. Beside it a dug-up grave dipped into the earth. The casket sat at the bottom of the hole, ripped open, revealing a skeleton resting on velvety cloth. Some of the bones were missing, but everything else was still intact. Isaac noticed the hands looked as though they were once holding something. Like an object had been pried out of them. He pointed it out to Derek.

"Must have been buried something important," Derek said.

Isaac redirected his flashlight so that it was pointing towards the headstone. It was a large, marble cross with small, delicate script. "Silas Faust," he read aloud. "1826-1909."

"I'm sensing a theme here," Derek muttered.

"What do you think it took?" Isaac asked, looking up at his alpha.

"If I knew that we wouldn't be here," Derek stated. "Now start looking around for clues. Anything you can sense that would help explain this mess."

Isaac complied and began to search the area. He was not able to pick up much, even with his keen senses. It would have been helpful if he actually knew what he was looking for. But all he could do is keep his eyes peeled and hope something would jump out at him. After not having much luck around the grave, he moved over towards the night guard's body. The dead man's open wounds gave off a revolting smell and Isaac shuddered at going near it. He pointed his flashlight at the man and began to search the area around him. He thought he caught a glimpse of something white sticking out amongst the brown dirt. With his foot, he gently prodded the body, turning it on its side. Half stuck in the ground was a folded piece of paper that looked like it had been torn out of a book. Isaac bent down and pulled it out of the earth. He brushed the dirt off and examined it.

The paper felt thin and old, he was afraid he would rip it if he handled it even a bit too roughly. It was covered in curly handwriting, most of which had faded with age and wear. He could not read what the words said. It sort of looked like latin, but he was not sure.

"I found something," he called out to Derek, who stopped what he was doing and marched towards the boy. He handed the piece of paper to Derek, who looked just as confused by its contents.

"I don't recognize this language," Derek stated, his brow furrowing as he looked at the paper. "But its a good start. Come on, let's go. Cops will probably be here soon."

They left the cemetery as they had found it and made their way back to Derek's place, still no closer to figuring out what was going on. _

Clara sat by herself at the kitchen table. It was getting quite late and her grandmother still wasn't back yet. She could barely concentrate on the textbooks she had laid out in front of her. Her mind kept wandering back to trying to do the spell with Lydia earlier that day. How could she have been so naive to think that the box wouldn't be hexed?

The girl looked up from her books when she heard the door creek open and then shut. The sound of footsteps traveled down the hall. Then, her grandmother appeared in the kitchen in front of her.

"Hello darling," the elder woman said.

"Hello grandmother," Clara answered. "How was your day?"

"Nothing to write home about," Ms. Delacroix replied as she walked over to the pantry and pulled out a packet of tea and a mug. "I've been very busy lately but all is well." Clara could tell that she was not being completely honest. "And how was yours?"

"Uneventful," Clara said. Dishonesty seemed to be their new thing. "I've just been doing homework all afternoon."

"Good," her grandmother said as she fiddled with her tea. "It's important to keep your mind sharp."

"I suppose," Clara answered unenthusiastically. Clara looked down and noticed something strange. One of her grandmother's shoes was peeking out of her floor-length skirt. It was soaking wet and covered in dirt. The hem of her dress was also muddied. It wasn't like her grandmother to be messy at all. She was always rigidly tidy. "Was it raining?" she asked.

"No, darling, why do you ask?" her grandmother replied.

"You're covered in mud," Clara pointed out.

Ms. Delacroix quickly hid her shoe back under her dress. "That was rude, Clara," she said sternly.

"I'm sorry, I just noticed," Clara said quietly. "What were you up to?"

"I was just running errands about town all day," the elder Delacroix replied. "It is really none of your concern, young lady." She acted no more than slightly annoyed, but Clara could tell she was not interested in answering any more questions. Then, she exited the room and drifted up the stairs, leaving Clara by herself in the kitchen again. Clara couldn't help but speculate about what she could have been up to all day. The secrecy was driving her mad.

* * *

**Leave a review/comment down below!**

**As always, tune in next week for more :)**


	11. Help

**Hi Everyone! It's a short one today. I hope you enjoy! **

* * *

**Chapter 11: Help**

The sound of loud voices and metal lockers slamming shut filled the air of the boys locker room. Scott, Isaac and Stiles stood huddled together, trying as hard as they could to keep their voices to a whisper. The rest of the boys in the locker room were too preoccupied with changing into their lacrosse gear to notice them anyway.

"Another attack last night," Isaac said in a hushed tone. "In the cemetery. Killed on of the night guards and dug up a grave."

"Just another day in Beacon Hills," Stiles muttered.

"It stole some things from the grave," Isaac added.

"Like what?" Stiles asked.

"We're not really sure," Isaac replied. "Some bones were missing, and maybe an object or two. Also, it left something behind." Isaac reached into his backpack and pulled out the aged piece of paper, which was sealed in a plastic sandwich bag.

"Who's grave was this?" Scott said.

"Silas Faust," Isaac answered. "Peter tried looking him up but couldn't find much."

"Great, more mysteries," Scott said.

"What's on it?" Stiles inquired after examining the handwriting.

"We don't know," Isaac answered. "It kind of looks like Latin, but I'm not sure."

"We need to translate it," Scott stated.

"Gee, if only we didn't piss off the one person who could help us," Stiles said.

"You're right," Scott said. "She's never going to help us after what happened."

Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of a whistle blowing loud in their ears. Coach stepped out of his office and into the locker room. He had his usual deranged look in his eyes and his hair was sticking out in every direction.

"You have thirty seconds to get on the field," he yelled, putting a temporary end to the boys' conversation. Practice would provide a nice distraction for about an hour or two, but in their minds they knew it wasn't long before their lives would be thrown back into crazy mode.

* * *

Lydia sat silently at a table by herself in the library. Her books were sprawled out in front of her and she was typing away on her laptop. Then, she noticed something appear out of the corner of her eye. She looked up over the lid of her laptop and sighed. Stiles, Scott, and Isaac were now sitting down on the opposite end of her table, peering at her with expecting eyes.

"Yes," she said demandingly as she took out one of her earbuds, giving half of her attention to the boys.

"Look, we know you're mad at us," Scott began.

"Got that right," Lydia interjected.

"But, we really need your help. It's important, and we wouldn't be bothering you if it wasn't," Scott explained.

"What is it?" she inquired, not sounding too thrilled.

"I found this last night at the cemetery," Isaac said as he placed the half piece of paper on the table. "The thing that attacked us dug it up. We only have part of it."

"And let me guess," Lydia said. "You need me to translate it."

"That would be the case," Stiles said.

"I really should start charging for my services," Lydia quipped.

"So you'll help us?" Scott asked with a pleading look in his eyes.

Lydia took in a heavy breath and began to examine their proposal. As annoyed with them as she was, she couldn't help but be curious by the markings on the paper. On the one hand, she did not want to be wrapped up in the supernatural battle that was surly coming. On the other hand, though she would never admit it, she lived for all of this decrypting secret messages stuff. It made her feel like a prettier Indiana Jones. She hesitated before answering for one more second, just to put the boys on edge, and then she began to speak. "Fine," she said. "But, only if I get full access to what's going on. None of this keep me in the dark stuff, got it?"

"Yes," Scott said, relieved. "Thank you, I promise, we'll make it up to you."

"Don't get too excited," she added with a playful smirk. Then, she reached over the table and grabbed the plastic bag that contained the piece of paper. She held it close to her eyes and began to examine it. "By the way, this isn't even a real language," she said.

"What do you mean?" Scott asked, sounding disappointed.

"I mean, I can't read it," Lydia answered. "It's like a code or something. I'm surprised you couldn't tell."

"Well, do you think you can crack it?" Stiles said.

"A challenge," Lydia began. "But I accept. I'll see what I come up with tonight and we can meet here tomorrow, k?"

"Yeah, that sounds awesome," Scott said. "See you tomorrow then."

Then the three boys left Lydia to figure it out. They hoped she would be able to come up with something fast. The situation was getting out of hand and they needed all the help they could get.

* * *

The next day, Lydia walked into the library, less enthusiastic than she normally was. She still looked perfect and put together, but there was a look in her eyes like she had been up all night. She spotted the three boys sitting at one of the tables near the back of the library and headed towards them. As she sat down, all three pairs of eyes were focused on her intently.

"So," Stiles began, eagerly. "What'd you find?"

"Nothing," Lydia said bitterly as she threw the document onto the table in frustration. "Absolutely nothing. I was up until four in the morning trying to figure this out. It's uncrackable."

"Great," Scott sighed.

"I tried everything I can think of," Lydia continued. "Whoever wanted this to be a secret meant business."

"So what do we do now?" Isaac asked, frustrated. "If the smartest person we know can't even figure it out."

"I don't know," Scott said. "But we can't just wait around for this thing to kill again before we find more clues."

"Actually," Lydia piped up, sounding a bit hesitant. "I might know someone else who could help."

"What? Who?" Stiles asked. He noticed Lydia was looking at something in the distance. He turned around to see what she was staring at. From afar he could see a fair, long-haired girl wearing a short, black skirt, and a white collard shirt glide through the rows of books. The rest of the boys turned around to see too.

"I'm guessing you mean Clara," Isaac sighed.

"The only problem is weather or not they would be willing to," she continued.

"Even if she didn't hate all of us with the power of, I don't know, a thousand witches, how would she be able to help?" Stiles inquired.

"She can do this thing where she reads the history of objects," Lydia explained. "She could tell us who wrote that and why. She might even be able to figure out the key to the code."

"There's no way she's going to work with us," Isaac said.

"Well, you never know until you try," Scott said optimistically. He got up from his chair and walked towards the bookshelf Clara was standing behind.

"This is a bad idea," Stiles mumbled.

Scott found Clara in between two tall bookshelves. She was delicately flipping through the pages of an encyclopedia. All of a sudden, she slammed the book shut and looked up, staring straight ahead. "I thought I told you to stay away from me," she said bluntly, not even bothering to look at Scott.

Scott inhaled slowly. This was going to be harder than he thought. "Hi Clara, how's your day been?" he said gently.

She shot him a look that could pierce a hole through his chest. He felt lucky it didn't. Then she slid the book back into its place on the shelf and began to walk in the other direction.

"Wait," Scott called after her, taking a step towards the girl. Suddenly, an avalanche of books tumbled down in front of him, one clocking him on the head. "Ow! That wasn't necessary!"

Clara smirked with amusement. "What do you want?" she exclaimed. She was frustrated by the werewolf's persistence.

"I just wanted to apologize," he said. She could tell he was being earnest, but she didn't want to hear it. "About the other day."

"You're lucky I didn't report you to the police," Clara said. "Or worse, my grandmother."

"I know, we were really in the wrong," he replied.

"Yeah, you were. You didn't even bother to find out anything about me first. Like, for example, why would I try to kill the man that saved me and my grandmother from the hunters, who were, by the way, tipped off by your kind," Clara explained, exasperatedly. "For your information, the Fausts aren't responsible for the death of my family. That burden lies on the Hales."

"What do you mean, saved you?" Scott inquired.

"Edmund Faust was friends with my grandmother. He was the only one of the Fausts who was brave enough to stand up for us. He hid us while the others were being killed and got shot in the head trying to save us. I visit him every once in a while because his family all abandoned him. The reason I mess with the security tapes is because we've been using magic to keep him alive."

"I didn't realize," Scott said softly.

"You wouldn't have, would you?" Clara said, narrowing her eyes.

"I'm really sorry, Clara, we all are. We're not bad people."

"You're not really even people," she said. She knew it was a low blow, but she was angry.

"Look, I know you don't like our kind," Scott sighed.

"That's an understatement," Clara muttered, cutting him off.

"But, this is really important. We have something that could help us figure out what this monster thing is and what it wants. The only problem is, we can't read it. It's like some kind of code or something."

"And what does that have to do with me?" Clara asked sharply.

"Lydia said you could read objects,"

"Did she now?"

"And that you could tell us all there is to know about it. We figured you could help us figure out what it all means."

Clara laughed. "You expect _me_, to help _you_?" Clara said in disbelief. "You must be delusional, werewolf."

"Please," Scott pleaded. "I wouldn't be asking you if it wasn't crucial."

"I don't care," Clara stated coldly. "I'm not going to help you."

"I don't think you understand. We found it at one of the Faust's graves," Scott explained. "And that connects it to you too. This thing that is out there is after all of us, and it's too strong for any of us to beat it alone. But if we work together we could-"

"The answer is no," Clara said firmly, her tone shifting from annoyed to angry. As she said the words, her big, green eyes glowed, enhancing the dark glint that was always present in them. Scott felt a harrowing feeling creep up his spine. He felt like he was being pricked with thousands of needles. The only thing he could focus on was the stinging pain. Then, after a few seconds, it suddenly stopped. He looked down at himself, and then back up at the girl, a shocked expression plastered on his face.

"Fine," he said. "If you don't want to help us, we'll just have to figure it out on our own. But understand that as long as this thing is at large people are going to keep getting hurt." Then, he turned around and walked away from her. She watched him as he left and she could tell how frustrated he was. But what was she supposed to do? Getting involved with werewolves had already caused more trouble than it was worth, and she had enough to deal with.

* * *

**Thanks for reading! Please leave a comment down below! I'd love to know what you are thinking :)**


	12. Care

**Hi everyone! It's been a really stressful week (finals are looming) and I wasn't sure if I'd have anything done for you. But, I decided to give you another really short one instead of nothing :)**

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**Chapter 12: Care**

After the last bell rang Clara crept out of the school, hoping to avoid any of the werewolves who seemed so intent on getting her to join forces with them. She walked down the dirt path towards her home quickly, not wasting time to admirer the scenery. She wanted to get home fast, and she knew she shouldn't be walking alone. But she would have done anything to avoid seeing Isaac on the bus ride home. Since Lydia had to stay at school for some dance committee meeting, she was left with one mode of transportation: walking.

The long walk to her house was made much worse by the cold. The fog this afternoon was thick and the trees of the forest almost blocked out the sun completely. It was eerily quiet in the woods. The kind of quiet that made you feel like no one was around, yet at the same time like you were being watched. Every rustling leaf or chirping bird grabbed Clara's attention. She tried to shake it off because what was the use in being scared of every little noise? But then she began to hear another noise that sounded like footsteps. She was almost certain that she was being followed. She quickly whipped around, but saw no sign of anyone else. "Don't be so paranoid," she thought to herself as she kept walking.

Then, she heard the sound of a branch cracking behind her. She quickly turned around again and saw nothing but the leaves of a nearby bush rustling. "Is someone there?" she yelled, her heartbeat picking up. No one answered, but she just couldn't shake the feeling that she wasn't alone. She held out her right hand and pointed it at the bush. She focused her mind and whispered the word "révéler," to herself. All of a sudden, as if a powerful gust of wind had unrooted the bush, it blew aside, revealing the figure of a boy crouched down where it once stood.

"What are you doing?" Clara shouted as she recognized the figure. It was Isaac and he was slowly standing up before her.

"I noticed you didn't get on the bus so I wanted to-"

"See who I was going to murder next?" Clara said sarcastically.

"No, I just wanted to make sure you got home ok," Isaac replied, sheepishly shoving his hands in his jacket pockets.

"Why is that any of your concern?"

"Because there is a ferocious beast out to kill all of us," he countered.

"And now there's one standing in front of me," Clara retorted.

"I'm not gonna hurt you," Isaac said. "Just because I'm a werewolf doesn't mean-"

"Did Scott send you to look after me?" Clara snapped. "It seems like the kind of do-gooder thing he would do."

"No," Isaac said. "It was my idea."

"And you thought stalking me through the forest was a good idea?" she asked, raising her eyebrows. "See, this is why you're the muscle, not the bran."

"Hey," Isaac said, taken aback by her insult. "And besides, would you have let me walk with you if you knew?"

"Of course not," Clara replied. "I don't need a chaperone. Especially one that's a man-eating beast. I can take care of myself."

"Really, because you seemed a bit scared back there," Isaac retorted. With that remark, Clara began to walk off. He quickly caught up to her. "You can't exactly out run me," he said, stepping in front of her.

"But I can signal all of these birds to peck your eyes out if you so much as try anything," Clara snapped.

"But you wouldn't," he added.

"And why would you think that? I'm a cold-blooded killer. Or did you forget?" she said as she shoved past him.

"Because I know you just act cold so you don't get hurt," he said.

"Was that supposed to be nice?" Clara said.

Isaac inhaled a long breath and then released a heavy sigh, producing a visual puff of condensation. "Look, I just wanted to tell you I'm sorry."

"For what? For drugging me, accusing me of murder and then almost getting me killed? Or for insinuating that you could teach me a few things-"

"Both," Isaac blurted out. Inside he was hoping that she would have forgotten the things he had said to her at her locker. "Mostly for the wrongfully accusing you of murder part."

There was an awkward moment of silence between the two. Isaac didn't really know where to look. Her eyes made him feel so guilty. He shoved his hands in his pockets and slightly rocked back and forth nervously. Then he began to speak again.

"And, I'm sorry if I was a bit forward," he began "At your locker."

"A bit forward," Clara cried.

"I'm not that guy, I swear," Isaac said.

"Sure seems like it," Clara retorted.

"I know I may come off as-"

"A jerk," Clara interrupted, folding her arms against her chest.

"Yeah," Isaac continued. "And sometimes I am, like the other day. But I'm not a bad guy. I just have a lot of...things to work out."

"Are you actually being serious or are you messing with me?" Clara asked earnestly.

"You tell me," Isaac answered, rolling up one of his long sleeves and then extending out his hand towards Clara. She looked into his eyes and he gave her a silent affirmation. She gently took his hand in hers and began to read him. She quickly dropped his hand and looked away. "So am I being serious or not?"

"Yeah, you're being serious," Clara replied softly.

"What else did you see?" he asked, noticing how her behavior had shifted.

"Nothing," Clara lied.

"You don't have to lie, I know what's in there," Isaac replied.

"Was that your father?" Clara asked. Isaac simply nodded.

"Yes. That's why I became a werewolf," Isaac stated. "Not to become a monster. But to get away from them."

"I didn't mean to look at that, I swear," Clara said. She could tell he was the type of person who guarded his emotions, like her.

"It's ok," he said.

"I'm sorry," Clara whispered.

"Don't be," Isaac said. "I'm not upset that you saw it because maybe it might show you that I'm more human than wolf."

Clara looked down at the soil below her feet. She didn't know what to say anymore. She thought she had him all figured out before, but in the few minutes they had been talking he became more complex than she had even imagined.

"Are you gonna stop being stubborn and let me walk you home now?" he said after a long moment of silence. She had pretty much forgotten the reason why they were even standing there. "I'm not letting you walk alone," he said sternly.

She looked into his eyes and saw that he was completely serious. "Fine," she said with a shrug.

They continued walking down the forest path. Clara in front with Isaac trailing behind her like a loyal dog. Clara reached for the phone in her jacket pocket and looked down at it. In the shiny screen she could see Isaac behind her. He walked slowly with his hands shoved in his jacket pockets, but every once in a while he would take one out to habitually comb it through his hair. "Stop looking," she thought to herself. But it was easier said than done.

* * *

Clara and Isaac walked silently for several minutes until they came to the edge of the forest path. As they neared Clara's house, Clara began to feel like there was something wrong. With each step she took she felt a hole dig its way deeper through her stomach. Once she was close enough to see the house more clearly she began to panic. She saw that the door was left wide open, something her grandmother would never allow. She worried that someone, or something, might have broken in. But how? The door was secured with magic and virtually impenetrable.

She began to run towards the house. Isaac called after her and started to run as well. There was a smear of blood on the door. As Clara entered the house she called out frantically for her grandmother, but there was no reply. She ran up the winding staircase. Isaac followed her, in all the chaos he couldn't help but notice how lavish the house was, and how odd it felt to be inside of it for real.

Once Clara had climbed to the top of the stairs she turned the corner towards her grandmother's bedroom. She found the door open. The painting that had hung on the wall was lying on the floor with a big tear down the middle, and the safe door was dangling off its hinges. It was empty, but Clara barely had time to notice that because beside it, to her horror, was her grandmother, lying face up on the floor, covered in blood. There were three, deep slashes down her chest and it was clear what the cause was. Clara screamed and rushed over to her side. She grabbed her hand, trying desperately to find any sign of life. Her grandmother's pulse was almost non-existent.

"We need to get her to a hospital," Isaac said.

But Clara didn't even hear him. She was sobbing and her heart was racing faster than it ever had. What would she do if her grandmother was dead? She would have no one to care for her. The thoughts began to make her head spin uncontrollably. "Please don't be dead, please," Clara cried. Suddenly, she felt a pair of hands wrap around her shoulders. In all of her hysteria she had forgotten Isaac was there. She felt her head be pulled into his shirt. She buried her face into the fabric and closed her eyes. After a while she had stopped registering what was happening and everything became a blur.

* * *

**There's your quality Clara/Isaac time for the week :)**

**Thanks for reading! Remember to leave a comment!**


	13. Pieces

**Hi everyone! Sorry its been so long. I've been sick and had finals on top of that :( **

**Today's chapter has lots of Clara/Isaac so that should make up for the break! Enjoy.**

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**Chapter 13: Pieces**

Clara woke up to the vision of plain white walls and the smell of rubbing alcohol filling her nose. It only took her a few seconds to realize she was in a hospital. She couldn't remember how she got there. Everything that happened after she had found her grandmother lying on the floor was missing. Was her grandmother even still alive? Clara couldn't take one more minute without knowing what happened. She looked down at the stark white blanket that was placed on top of her and began to peel it off and get out of the bed until she felt a hand press against her shoulder.

"Looks like someone's in a hurry," a calm voice said to her. She looked over to see a woman with curly brown hair and green scrubs. She wore a small badge that read Melissa McCall on it. Scott's mother, of all people was her nurse. Strange, Clara thought, she didn't seem to be supernatural at all. "You fainted earlier. You need to rest, dear," the woman continued.

"My grandmother," Clara cried. "What happened to her?"

"Shhh, it's ok," Ms. McCall said.

"Where is she?"

"She was hurt very badly," Ms. McCall replied. "She is in a coma."

"Is she going to live?"

"I don't know sweetie, we just have to keep hoping."

"I need to see her," Clara yelled as she tried once more to get out of the bed.

"I'm sorry, I can't let you-" the woman began. But Clara locked eyes with her and forced her to focus.

"You will let me see her," Clara said sternly, her eyes glowing a soft green.

"I will let you see her," Ms. McCall repeated in a dazed manner. "B26."

Then, Clara climbed out of her bed and towards the chair on the other side of the room. She put her shoes back on and stepped out into the hallway. She soon found the small room her grandmother was being kept in. She peered through the window and watched nervously as a doctor observed her, jotting notes down on his clipboard. Her grandmother lay motionless and there was a series of tubes stuck in her arm and up her nose. For the first time in her life she truly looked old. It was hard for Clara to see her like this.

"How are you feeling," a deep voice said from behind her. She jumped a little, not knowing someone was there. She turned around to see a tall man in a sheriff's uniform looking down at her. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."

"I'm fine," Clara replied quietly, recomposing herself. She noticed the badge on his chest. Stilinski, it read. This really was a small town.

"I need to ask you some questions about what happened," he said in a serious tone of voice.

She looked down at her feet and became a bit nervous. She didn't want to talk about what happened earlier. "What kind of questions," she muttered.

"Just basic ones. I need you to tell me if you saw anything, or if you know anything that could help us figure out who did this."

"Of what" Clara began. She noticed the sheriff's eyebrows raise slightly. "I mean, I didn't see anything. I found her on the floor of her bedroom. Someone had broken in."

"Could you be more specific?" the sheriff asked.

"I don't know," Clara said frustratedly. She couldn't tell him about the monster, or the secret magic box. She knew he was trying to be helpful, but what could he do really? "I wasn't there when anything happened. I just found her."

"Ok, thank you for your time. If you need anything you can call me directly," he said as he handed her a card with his number on it. "And I'm sorry about your grandma."

"Thank you," Clara whispered. Then the sheriff walked away from her and began to talk to another police officer. Clara turned around and peered through the glass that separated herself from her grandmother. The doctor had stepped out so she now had her chance. She snuck into the room and closed the curtain so no one would see her.

She slowly approached her grandmother's bed. She was covered in bandages that hid the gruesome tears the beast had clawed into her skin. Her expression was almost peaceful as if she were just sleeping heavily. Clara placed her hand on her grandmother's forearm as she looked into her face. The sound of the heart monitor provided a steady, yet unsettling rhythm.

"I'm so sorry," Clara whispered as tears began to run down her face. She couldn't understand why someone would do this. What they could have wanted from her so badly? And what was she doing to make them so angry?

Her thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a clamping feeling on her forearm. Clara looked down at her arm and was shocked to see her grandmother was gripping her tenaciously. Her nails dug into Clara's skin so sharply that they almost drew blood. She gasped and looked up at her grandmother's face. She had sat up a little and her eyes were glowing. The lights flickered and the beeping sound of the heart monitor began to speed up tremendously. In a very low voice she began to speak.

"The pieces must not be put together," she began, her voice booming in Clara's ears. "There will be great danger. You must stop him. Destroy him."

"Destroy who?" Clara cried frantically. She needed answers. But as Clara spoke the glow in her grandmother's eyes began to fade. Her body lay back down, hitting the bed with a thud. Her grip on Clara's arm loosened and she returned to her comatose state. "What do you mean, grandma?" Clara shouted, shaking her grandmother, hoping she would wake again. But it was no use.

Within seconds another nurse appeared in the doorway, her face twisted into a severe expression. "You're not supposed to be in here," the nurse scolded. "Visiting hours are over."

"Please, I need to be with her," Clara cried. "She's my grandmother."

"You can visit her between the regular hours," the nurse replied unsympathetically. "You need to leave now." She ushered Clara out of the room and closed the door firmly behind her.

Clara's mind was spinning. She was scared and confused by everything that was happening. What did her grandmother mean to tell her? And more importantly, how was she supposed to stop him? Whoever he was.

Clara began to walk so quickly that she was almost running. Tears were welling in her eyes and she barely saw what was in front of her as it flew by. All she knew is that she wanted to be out of there now. She headed towards the elevators and had almost made it when something stepped out of the sliding door and crashed into her. She stumbled backwards a bit but managed to catch herself before she fell completely. She felt a hand grab her wrist and steady her. She instinctively snatched her hand away. "Look where you're-" she began to say, but when she looked up, she realized who it was.

"Your the one who was running with their head down," the boy said with a slight smirk.

"What are you doing here, Isaac?" Clara asked. She had practically forgotten that he had walked her home earlier.

"Who do you think called the ambulance when you fainted?" he replied.

Clara looked down at her feet, slightly embarrassed.

"I was just wandering around the other floors. I was coming to see if you had woken up yet," he explained.

"Oh," Clara mumbled. She didn't really know what to say. She was a bit confused as to why he cared about her so much. "You didn't have to stay."

"It's not like I had anything else to do," he answered. "Well, except homework, but whatever."

"Well, I'm fine now so you might as well go home," Clara replied.

"You don't have anywhere to go tonight, do you?" Isaac said bluntly.

Clara was a bit taken aback by this. She hadn't really thought about it. She definitely didn't want to stay in her house tonight.

"You could stay with me if you want," he offered. "I don't think Derek would mind," he added, knowing full well that wasn't true.

"I don't think so," Clara began, looking quite uneasy. She couldn't stay the night with a pack of werewolves. Even if they acted nice and waited at the hospital for her. Her grandmother would be devastated if she knew about this.

"Come on," he continued. "It's only a few blocks from here. We don't bite I promise."

"That doesn't really make me feel better," Clara whispered.

"Look, you need a bed, I'm offering you one," he said.

Clara thought about it, and she knew he was right. She looked back at her grandmother's room for a moment, and then turned back to Isaac. "Fine," she said with a heavy sigh, giving in to him for the second time that day.

* * *

Clara followed Isaac through the dark streets of downtown Beacon Hills. She couldn't believe how late it was already. The day had completely slipped by her. As they ventured deeper into the sketchy alleyways, Clara began to berate herself for her decision. As she looked around she saw garbage lining the streets and what she swore was a pack of rats. When they came to a scratched up metal door Isaac stopped. Clara scanned the building in front of them. It was a tall, derelict apartment complex that looked as if it had been abandoned for at least a decade. Isaac took a key out from his jacket pocket and undid the padlock that hung from the door. He opened the door with a sharp, grating sound, and then they both slipped inside. This must be a dream, Clara tried to convince herself as she stepped inside the broken down building. But unlike her house, it really was as bad on the inside as it looked on the outside.

Isaac led her to an old, hand-operated elevator. He gestured for her to climb into it, and reluctantly she did. He began to turn the crank and the elevator jerked upwards. Clara's heart skipped a beat as she looked down and saw the ground becoming further and further away from them. Then they came to a stop, and Isaac pried open the elevator doors. Isaac helped Clara out of the elevator and into the loft apartment. It was very wide and spacious, and there was lots of windows. There was barely any furniture and the paint on the walls was chipping badly.

"Where have you been all day?" a serious sounding voice called from another room. "You missed training." At the same time the man stepped out of a doorway and into the living room where Clara and Isaac were standing. Once the man saw that there were two of them he stopped speaking and just glared sharply. Clara was quite nervous. That must be Derek, the Alpha, she thought to herself as she took a small step backwards. "Who's this?" he asked without any sign of friendliness.

"This is Clara," Isaac answered obediently.

"As in the girl you kidnapped?" Derek asked.

"Yes," Isaac answered sheepishly. "That Clara."

"And why is she here?" Derek prompted again.

"She needed somewhere to stay," Isaac said. "Her grandmother was attacked, by the thing and-"

"And you thought you'd just bring her here?" Derek said. He looked the girl up and down. Her heart was beating fast and she kept fiddling with her hands. Her wide, green eyes looked slightly bewildered, scared even.

"I thought she'd be safe here," Isaac began. "I couldn't let her go home by herself after what happened. She won't be any trouble, I promise."

Derek paused for a moment before he spoke, his stare burrowing through them. "Fine," he said exasperatedly. "One night."

"Thank you," Isaac replied.

"And for the future remember this isn't a motel," Derek added. Then he walked off, back into the room he came out of. Clara didn't exactly feel welcome.

"Maybe I should just go," Clara began. "I could call Lydia or-"

"No, it's fine. You can sleep in my room," Isaac said, turning to Clara. "I'll sleep on the couch." Then he led her towards a small room near the back of the apartment. He turned on a lamp which lit up the room with a dim glow. The walls were completely bare and there was an old mattress lying on the ground. There were clothes scattered on the concrete floor, and near one of the walls was a duffle bag. Isaac walked over to the bag and began to rummage through it. He pulled out a dark red, Beacon Hills t-shirt and tossed it to Clara. "Here, you can change into this. I'll go find you some blankets," he said as he made his way towards the door.

Clara looked down at the shirt as she unraveled it. This whole situation felt strange to her. Never would she have thought that she would be about to sleep in a werewolf's bed. But this wasn't exactly a time to be picky. She closed the door and then began to undress. She slipped the shirt on and was surprised by how big it was on her. She sat down on the edge of the mattress and looked up at the ceiling. Her mind began to wander back to earlier that day. Seeing her grandmother lying on the floor, covered in blood. It made her stomach twist into knots every time she pictured it in her mind. Each time it was more gruesome than the last. Then she thought back to the time when she saw the creature in the warehouse. The way it looked at her like it wanted to tear her apart.

A sudden knock at the door tore her away from her horrible thoughts. After a moment, Isaac slowly opened the door. He entered the room, carrying blankets underneath one arm. He handed one to Clara and then sat down beside her.

"I'm sorry about what happened," he said quietly.

"I feel like I should have been there," Clara began. "Maybe if I had gotten home earlier I could have done something."

"It's not your fault," Isaac said. Then Clara began to cry. Isaac wasn't really sure what to do. He wasn't used to being around all of these emotions, especially after living with Derek for a while. He awkwardly placed a hand on her back and tried to comfort her.

"I just feel really guilty," Clara muttered through her sobs.

"Why?" Isaac asked.

"Because for a while I thought she might have had something to do with the attacks," Clara answered. "She was just being so strange and wouldn't tell me the truth. But now I feel so terrible."

"It's ok," Isaac whispered. "Here, you should lie down."

Slowly, Clara stretched out on the bed. Isaac spread one of the blankets over her. Then he reached over towards the lamp and turned the small knob until the room was dark. He began to walk away from the bed until he felt a hand grab the back of his shirt.

"Wait," Clara whispered in a shaky voice. She wrapped her hand around his forearm and then began to pull him back towards the bed. "I'm scared to be alone." Isaac laid down beside her, shocked and confused by what was happening. Still holding his hand, she wrapped his arm around her so that their hands were placed over the center of her chest. He could feel her chest rise and fall as she took in every breath. Then eventually the steady rhythm lulled him to sleep.

* * *

The sun shone through the dirty panes of glass, striking Clara's face. The first time she opened her eyes she was startled by how bright it was. Once she got used to the harsh light she managed to sit up a bit. She soon noticed Isaac was gone. It felt strange to wake up alone in his room. But then, it probably would have felt even stranger to wake up next to him. She climbed out of the bed and slowly walked towards the pile of her clothes that was laying on the floor. She shook them out, making sure they had not gathered dust from the dirty floor. Then she changed out of Isaac's shirt and into yesterday's clothes. All the while she thought about how her grandmother would not approve.

The apartment was cold and unsettlingly quite. She gently opened the door and stepped out of the small room. Nervously she began to walk down the hallway, hoping if she ran into someone it would be Isaac and not Derek. Once she reached the edge of the hallway, she began to hear voices coming from the kitchen. She lingered behind the wall and listened in.

"What happened to sleeping on the couch?" the first voice said in an unamused tone. She recognized instantly that it was Derek.

"I was going to, but then she got really upset and started crying," Isaac answered. "She wanted me to stay with her. What was I supposed to do?"

Derek rolled his eyes as he took a sip of his coffee. "I tell you to stay away from her and you end up in her bed. Either you don't hear a word I say or you've been hanging out with McCall too much."

"It wasn't like that," Isaac protested.

"Good. Let's keep it that way," Derek replied. "Anyway, about the attack. What exactly happened?"

"Well, when we got to her house, it was broken into. We found her grandmother lying on the floor of her room." Isaac explained. "And it had taken something."

"Like what?" Derek asked.

"I'm not sure, but it must have been valuable. It was all locked up in a safe and everything."

"Whatever it is I bet it has something to do with the grave robbery," Derek said. "It seems like its starting a collection."

"Or trying to solve a puzzle," Clara added. Derek and Isaac turned around, surprised to see Clara standing in the doorway.

"What do you mean?" Derek said.

"My grandmother told me not to let him put the pieces together," Clara replied. "So he must be trying to solve something."

"When did she tell you this?" Isaac asked.

"At the hospital," Clara said. "It's a long story."

"What else did she tell you?" Derek inquired.

"Not much, she was only lucid for a brief moment," Clara answered. "But its clear that we need to stop him from solving whatever he's trying to solve."

"Wait, we?" Isaac said, a small smirk beginning to spread over his lips. "Does this mean you'll help us then?"

Clara hesitated for a moment. She knew what her grandmother would think. She thought back to all of the horrible stories she was told. The fear and disgust she was trained to believe. But in that moment it all didn't matter. They were her only option of staying alive and solving this mystery.

"Yes," Clara answered. "I'm in."

* * *

**Thanks so much for continuing to read. Don't forget to leave a review/comment!**

**(Also note, this story doesn't come to me as easily as my other one did, so I might not be able to update as regularly. But I'm trying my hardest for you all!)**

**See you next time!**


	14. Sleuthing

**Hi everyone! Thanks so much for being patient and continuing to read. Here is a short one for you today. I'll do my best to keep it coming!**

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**Chapter 14: Sleuthing**

Clara sat silently at the back of her French class, staring blankly at the chalkboard as she waited for class to start. It felt too soon to be back in school after what had happened but she didn't have much of a choice. Life had to go on. She had been distracted all day. All her mind wanted to focus on was the mystery and how they were going to solve it.

As Clara became more lost in her thoughts she barely noticed her surroundings. The sounds of footsteps and students talking as they entered the classroom blended into a dull roar that lingered in the air. It wasn't until she heard her name that she was pulled out of her mind and into reality again.

"Hello?" she heard a high pitched voice say, causing her to whip her head around. Standing before her was Lydia, who was hovering near her desk, waving one of her hands in Clara's face as if checking to see if she was conscious.

"Sorry...hi," Clara answered, looking slightly frazzled.

"I said how is your grandmother?" Lydia asked again. "I heard she was-" She paused and looked around for a second, making sure no one was paying attention to their conversation. "Attacked."

"She's in a coma," Clara replied as Lydia slipped into the desk in front of her, twisting her body so she was facing Clara. "The doctors never really gave me a straight answer as to if she was going to be ok or not."

"I'm sure she will be," Lydia added in a sympathetic tone.

"Thanks," Clara said, almost in a whisper. "I've um...I've decided to help," Clara added.

Lydia smiled as she heard the news. "I knew you'd come around," she said.

"Yeah, I figured it was the only way," Clara stated. "Its important that I figure this out, you know, for the family. There's only two of us left and I have to protect us now."

Lydia reached out her hand and placed it on Clara's. She didn't say anything, instead she just gave her a knowing look.

"Bonjour classe," came the voice of Ms. Morell, signaling to the girls their conversation was over.

"Bonjour," the class lazily responded in not quite unison.

"Meet us in the back of the library after school, d'accord?" Lydia whispered quickly before she turned around to face the board.

"D'accord," Clara replied.

* * *

Clara waited nervously for the last bell to ring. In her head she kept fantasizing all of the possible scenarios that might come from trying to track down a killer monster. She was surprised by all of the unpleasant things she could think up. She jumped at the sound of the bell ringing in her ears, which made her snap out of the vision of her gruesome murder at the hands of the beast. Her heart was beating fast and as she looked up from her desk she noticed people were staring at her. She quickly gathered her things, shoved them in her backpack and headed out of the classroom. Then she made her way down the hall towards the library.

She hesitated for a moment as she reached the library doors. There was no going back from here. She took in a deep breath and pushed the doors open, entering the room. She passed dozens of tables filled with students as she made her way towards the back. As she approached the last row of books she began to hear whispers. She turned the corner to see Scott, Stiles, Isaac and Lydia sitting on the floor in a circle, dozens of papers spread out haphazardly in front of them.

"What's all this?" Clara asked in a soft voice, causing the group to look up at her. Isaac scooted over, creating a gap in the circle for her to fill. Clara self-consciously sat down next to him, trying to avoid eye contact. She was a bit embarrassed about what happened the other night, even if it was completely innocent. She didn't really know how to act around him. All she knew was that Isaac made her feel confused and she really needed to focus right now.

"Stiles did some light research," Scott replied, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

"Police records, hospital records, dental records," Stiles said. He had a tired look in his eyes like he spent all night in front of a computer. "Just the basics really."

"On what?" Clara inquired.

"The Fausts, the psychic, your family..." Stiles replied.

"And did you find anything?"

"Hmm, not really," Stiles said with a heavy sigh. "Nothing that useful at least. Especially on your family, it's like you've erased yourself from history."

"We're just private people," Clara replied.

"And then there's this," Stiles continued, pulling out the old piece of parchment that was found beside Silas Faust's unearthed grave.

"We should probably start with that," Lydia stated.

Stiles handed the folded piece of paper to Clara. She gently took it out of his hands. The paper felt delicate beneath her fingers, like if she was even a little too rough it would disintegrate. She slowly unfolded it and scanned it closely.

"So what is this supposed to be exactly?" Clara asked.

"We're not sure," Scott chimed in. "Isaac found it in the cemetery. We think its a code or something. We were hoping you could figure it out."

"I can try," Clara said. She placed the piece of paper on the floor in the center of the circle. She let her hand hover over the paper and closed her eyes. Then she whispered the word "déchiffrer." Suddenly the letters on the page began to glow a soft, golden color. Clara opened her eyes and she and the rest of the group watched attentively. The letters on the paper began to rearrange themselves and new letters began to appear out of nowhere. After about a minute the process was complete and the words now looked like English. Clara picked up the piece of paper and began to scan it.

"It's like some kind of manifesto," she said. Then she began to read aloud.

_'We three members of the houses Hale, Faust and Delacroix hereby agree to formally establish a coven dedicated to the Craft._

_The members of the coven shall be bound to secrecy by a blood oath. There shall be strict penalties for members who reveal the secrets of the coven. All rules and decisions must be unanimously agreed upon by members. The coven should be focused on the practice and learning of magic, even forms that are forbidden. Each member is to keep a private book detailing the ongoings of the coven.'_

"It kind of just goes on like that for a while," Clara interrupted, skipping through to the end. _'Signed Silas Faust, Jarvis Hale, and Édith Delacroix, July 1842.'_

"So they were part of some secret club? What does that have to do with anything?" Scott said.

"I don't know, but the creature clearly wanted that paper, and whatever else went with it," Isaac said.

"What I don't understand is what two non-witches would be doing in a coven," Lydia inquired.

"Non-witches are capable of some kinds of magic if they are in a position where they would know about it," Clara explained. "Some magic only works with humans or non-witches, as you know, and it can be beneficial to have one handy, for lack of a better word. It's unusual, but not entirely unlikely. There are even spells you can do to give others powers, but they are extremely dangerous and against all of our codes."

"Interesting," Lydia said. "I wonder what kind of spells they were interested. It did say 'even forms that are forbidden.' Maybe they were into dark magic? And maybe thats what the creature is interested in to."

"Here look," Stiles interrupted as he reached for the pile of papers he brought. He pulled three out and laid them in front of the group. They were black and white copies of family trees, one for each house. "Each one of the members should be on one of these." He scanned the diagrams and began to point out his findings. "See, Silas Faust, 1826, Jarvis Hale, 1825 Édith Delacroix, 1827-1842. They were all teenagers. And she died in the same year that was written. Two months after to be exact."

"Maybe they were up to something dangerous that got her killed," Scott added.

Stiles ruffled through more of the papers and pulled out an old newspaper article. "Deadly explosion kills young girl, September 1842," he read. Then he flipped through several papers and read their headlines. "Fatal stabbing kills local townsman, Maurice Hale, November 1842, Two members of the Faust family found dead in wolf attack, January 1843."

"The feud Peter mentioned. Between the three families," Isaac said. "This must be how it all started."

"Yeah, and it goes on," Stiles added. "There's like several decades worth of them killing each other. Then it all kind of dies out until,"

"1996 with my family," Clara finished.

"So, do you think the creature is trying to finish the job?" Stiles asked bluntly, causing Scott to give him a light elbowing to the ribs.

"We should look for those books," Clara said, trying to ignore his comment. "The ones that the members kept. Ours might be in the family library. We could go there now if you'd like."

"Are you sure?" Isaac asked, sounding slightly concerned. He could sense she wasn't entirely ready to step foot in her house again.

"Yes, I'm sure," she answered.

"I'll drive," Stiles interjected as he eagerly stumbled to his feet.

"Don't mind him," Scott said. "Sleuthing gets him all worked up."

The rest of the group stood up from the floor and followed Stiles out to the car. They piled into his Jeep, which wasn't quite meant to carry so many people, and drove off towards the Delacroix house.

* * *

**Next time we will venture into the Delacroix house again! I wonder what they will find? :)**

**Remember to leave a review!**


	15. Digging

**Hi everyone! Sorry it's been so long. I guess I've been having a bit of writers block. **

**I hope you're excited for a new chapter! We're slowly getting deeper into the mystery.**

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**Chapter 15: Digging**

Stiles pulled his Jeep up beside the derelict house and parked it on the dirt road. The rest of the group spilled out of the car, anxious not to be cramped up in the back seat anymore. The sight of the ominous house still made most of them feel nervous, and there was some hesitation to step forward. Clara took the lead and began to walk towards her front door. She had not been inside since the accident and was trying not to let the awful memories get to her. As she reached the front door she held her hand out to unlock it. There was still dried blood smeared on the wood of the door. She began to think of how badly her grandmother must have suffered. Clara shook the thought away from her head and placed her hand on the door. It then began to glow until the sound of the locks clicked open.

The door slowly began to open by itself, revealing the grand foyer of the Delacroix house. Clara stepped into the house first, Lydia and Isaac trailing behind her. Scott and Stiles entered last, clearly awestruck by the true insides of the house.

"I knew you were rich," Stiles mumbled as he gazed up at the magnificent chandelier that hung above him. Isaac gave him a swift elbowing to the shoulder.

"Try to be cool, for once," Isaac whispered.

"We should probably start in the library," Clara said.

"You have a library?" Stiles exclaimed with wide eyes.

"Where do you keep your books?" Clara said without a hint of irony. Stiles and Scott just stared at her, confused.

Clara turned around and began to lead them up the winding staircase. Stiles was still quite preoccupied with the strangeness of the house. Everywhere he turned there was a shelf lined with strange objects and vials. He could barely contain his curiosity.

"Don't touch that," Clara said, swiftly turning around to face the boy. Stiles tried to act natural but ended up almost knocking down a whole shelf. Then she turned back around and continued to lead them until they reached the library.

"Where should we start?" Scott asked, staring up at the high shelves filled with books that lined the entire room. The whole process began to feel extremely intimidating. How were they going to find the journal amongst stacks and stacks of books? They didn't even know if they were looking in the right place or not.

"Maybe we should split up," Lydia suggested. "The boys could take all the books stacked on the floor and we could take the shelves."

"Or Clara could just snap her fingers and save us some time," Stiles retorted.

"It doesn't really work like that," Clara replied, rolling her eyes.

"Are we going to have to look through all of these?" Isaac asked.

"Hopefully not," Clara said. "I have an idea."

Then she exited the room, leaving the others alone for a few minutes. When she returned she carried a small glass box in one hand. Through the glass they could see a small object that almost looked like a butterfly, except its wings were silver and mechanical.

"What is it?" Stiles asked, intrigued by the strangeness of the creature.

"I don't really know what to call it," Clara answered. "I invented it when I was eleven to help me spy on things."

"When I was eleven I just played with legos," Stiles quipped.

They all watched as she unlatched a small hook on the front of the box. It suddenly popped open and out came a blurry streak of silver light that buzzed around their heads like an insect.

"Trouver les journaux du coven" she commanded, then the small creature began to bounce back and forth amongst the shelves. They had to duck to avoid being hit in the face by its reckless flight. It zoomed through the library, checking every corner. Then, all of a sudden it flew back over to Clara and hovered beside her face. After a second it took off again and raced out the doorway.

"I think it want's us to follow it," Scott said with a confused look on his face. The five of them ran into the hallway after it, but it was gone. "I can hear it, it went this way," he stated. Then they all followed Scott until they found the creature again. It had lead them outside, deep into the densely packed forest behind the Delacroix house. It was lingering a few feet above the ground, never leaving its spot.

"Here, why would it be here?" Isaac questioned.

"Someone must have buried it," Lydia replied. "Why else would it take us here?"

"Hmm, digging," Stiles muttered under his breath. "A task for Isaac."

"Shut up Stilinski," Isaac replied.

"Werewolf hearing," Stiles said sarcastically. "Will I never learn?"

"Clara do you have any shovels?" Scott asked, focusing the groups attention back. "We should start now before it gets dark."

"Oh you were going to actually dig?" Clara replied. Then she held out her hand and focused her eyes on the patch of land before them. The ground began to shake softly and all of a sudden there was a large hole forming. The dirt looked as if it was being sucked back into the earth. After about a minute Clara lowered her hand and the digging stopped. "I think I've hit something," she said. They all rushed over to the hole and peered into it. Surely enough, there was a wooden box lying in the dirt.

"Léviter," Lydia said, then the box slowly rose out of the hole. She directed its movement with her hand and landed it on the ground before them. "Ouvrir," she added, with a flick of her hand. The box's lid flew open, revealing it's contents. She looked up and noticed the three boys were staring at her. "What, she's not the only one who can cast a spell or two."

"So now everyone is officially special but me?" Stiles interjected.

"Pretty much," Isaac scoffed. Then he crouched down on the dirt ground and began to peruse the contents of the box. At the same time Clara reached into the box, attempting to pull out one of the leather-bound books it contained. Her hand accidentally brushed against his, prompting her to pull it away. For a second he caught eyes with her, but she quickly looked down into the box, as if she was concentrating solely on the task at hand. She knew trying to ignore what was happening would become near impossible if he was always going to be around, but she didn't know what else to do.

Isaac pulled out one of the leather-bound books and began to flip through it. It's pages were stained yellow with age but the writing was still perfectly legible. "This is Jarvis Hale's journal."

"I have Silas Faust's," Stiles said.

Clara reached into the box and pulled out the last book.

"And this one's Édith Delacroix's," she said as she turned page after page. The others could see a visible shift in her expression as she scanned each new page.

"What does it say?" Scott asked.

"There's some really dark stuff in here," Clara explained. "Like, forbidden, dangerous stuff. Summoning the dead, curses, etc. They're not necessarily real spells, but the fact that they were experimenting with them is pretty sketchy." She turned through a few more pages until the writing stopped. "After this entry they're all blank," she continued. "September 7th, 1842. She died soon after that."

"This one stops around the same time," Isaac replied.

"Mine too," Stiles said.

"They must have disbanded after her death," Lydia added. "I'm guessing they wanted to keep what they did hidden."

"Mine is missing several pages," Stiles added. "It must be where that piece of paper we found at the cemetery came from. The paper and handwriting match. Here, listen to this: _September 6th, 1942, After several tireless weeks of research I have finally managed to track down the exact wording for the power spell. If the spell works as planned, Jarvis and I will be able to practice the Craft at the same level as the Delecroixs. Maybe even more if we can execute it right. We will all be equals, capable of doing extraordinary magic together._ The rest of it is ripped out. I'm guessing its the incriminating part with the spell."

"So, he wanted them all to be witches?" Scott asked.

"It sounds like he wanted to give himself powers," Clara stated. "But power is like energy. You can't create or destroy it. You can only transfer it from one being to the next. It is a really risky game to tamper with the natural balance of everything. If you do anything even slightly wrong it can be-"

"Deadly," Scott finished.

"Exactly," Clara replied. "If the rest of that journal is what the creature dug out of his grave, then he must be after power too."

"But why?" Scott asked. "He can already shift into a killer mutant animal, isn't that enough power?"

"For some people there is no such thing as enough power," Lydia countered.

"Ok, we know what he wants, what's our next move?" Isaac asked.

"We study," Clara replied. "We need to go through every page of these journals and figure out what was going on then, and we need to figure out how the creature connects to all of it."

"And then we'll figure out why it's after us," Stiles said.

* * *

**Thanks so much for reading! Please remember to leave a comment/review down below!**


	16. Projections

**Hi Everyone! Sorry I've been a bit MIA. Thanks for being so patient.**

**I tried something sort of different for this chapter so I hope you like it! The mystery is starting to unwind a bit more...**

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**Chapter 16: Projections**

It was now night and the boys had gone back to their homes. Now it was only Clara and Lydia left in the house. Lydia had decided to stay the night with Clara, who hadn't slept in her own house since the incident.

"Thanks so much for doing this," Clara said.

"It's no problem," Lydia answered. "My mom was starting to get annoyed with you staying over every night anyway."

"Sorry," Clara sighed.

"No it's fine, I love annoying my mom," Lydia shrugged. "So...You never told me about what happened when you stayed with Isaac."

"I told you, nothing," Clara replied self-consciously. She knew Lydia was going to ask her about it and she had been dreading the conversation.

"I can't believe you stayed in Derek Hales house. That's so weird!" Lydia mused. "Gross, was it like a sleazy bachelor pad?"

"No, it was more like an abandoned loft," Clara corrected. "No furniture or anything nice really. Kind of dusty."

"And what does Isaac wear to bed?" she asked, laughing.

"Lydia!" Clara gasped.

"I'm kidding! Gosh, lighten up."

"There's nothing going on there," Clara stated.

"Whatever you say," Lydia teased.

"We should probably get back to the journals," Clara said.

"Right," Lydia replied. "But don't think your off the hook about this."

They had spent most of the night perusing through the books they had found, hoping to find some insight that could lead them in the right direction. Everything was getting so complicated with all of these figures from the past popping up. They needed to figure out how it all related to the creature that was attacking them, and they needed to do it quickly.

"I've finished Édith's," Lydia said, sounding a bit frustrated. "And I'm almost done with Silas's. But I'm not finding out as much as I'd hoped."

"I was thinking the same as I read through Jarvis's," Clara replied. "I'm thinking we should take this one step further."

"What do you mean?" Lydia said, intrigued. She had a feeling she knew just what Clara meant and was excited.

"I think if we read them as objects we will find out a lot more than what they wrote," Clara explained. "It might get kind of intense though. Do you think you are ready for it?"

"Yes," Lydia replied, smiling. "How hard can it be?"

"It might feel strange, but you'll be fine," Clara said. Then she got up from off of the bed and gestured for Lydia to follow her. She took the journals and placed them on the ground in front of where they stood. Then, she grabbed both of Lydia's hands and closed her eyes. She mumbled something softly to herself and the book flew open as if a powerful gust of wind had just blown it. The journal began to glow and the room started to spin, causing everything to become a blur. After a minute the spinning stopped, and the two girls stood in what appeared to be the depths of the forest.

"Where are we?" asked Lydia, steadying herself. The spinning had made her feel a bit disoriented.

"We're where they were I guess," Clara answered. "Well, sort of. We didn't time travel or anything. It's more like a...reenactment."

Lydia looked at her, confused. "What do you mean a-" she began, until she heard the sound of footsteps. She looked towards the source of the sound, and froze when she saw a boy about her age carrying a lantern step towards them.

"Don't worry, he can't see or hear you," Clara stated. They watched as he frantically hung the lantern on the branch of a low hanging tree. "He's not really real. This is all basically a projection."

"So are we like, inside his memories?" Lydia inquired.

"Kind of," Clara replied. "Everything will just play out around us."

"This is insane," Lydia said, completely intrigued. Then, someone else came up behind them. It was a fair, blonde girl dressed in a long, grey corseted dress, the bottom of which was covered in dirt. She was carrying a small, gold box with her, which she set down on a large stump. It looked to be the same one Clara had brought her grandmother. Clara's heart skipped a beat when she realized what it was.

"Was it really necessary to come all the way out here?" the girl asked in a soft voice. "Mother is going to be furious when she sees my dress."

"Silas said it was crucial that we do this in hiding," the boy who must have been Jarvis said.

"He is always so dramatic," Édith replied as she leaned against a tree. A smile began to spread across her face. She had that same glint in her wide, green eyes that Clara had. They were eerily similar.

"What?" Jarvis asked as the girl beamed at him.

"Aren't you excited?" she asked with a smile that was slightly mischievous. "To finally have powers like everyone else?"

Jarvis sighed softly, "You say that like its a bad thing to be-"

"Normal?" she said, cutting him off.

"Human," Jarvis continued.

Édith laughed softly, "Why would anyone want to just be human. Humans are so boring and oblivious. You're lucky you were at least born to werewolves."

"Not lucky enough to have been born one of them," Jarvis replied. "They always make me feel like I'm some intruder."

"Well, once we do the spell everything will be different," Édith said. She took a step towards him as she spoke and then put her hand on his. "And once I teach you how to use the craft you could be more powerful than any of them."

"Thats not what this is about for me," Jarvis began. "I just want to be able to be with you-"

"Well, I don't believe that for a second," a third voice interrupted, causing the expression on Jarvis's face to sink. Édith and Jarvis turned around to face the boy who had just entered the room.

"Not everyone is out to rule the world, Silas," Jarvis countered sarcastically. It was clear that there was tension between the two boys.

"I'm not trying to rule the world. But at least I'm not afraid to admit what I really want," Silas retorted. "And it's not love," he added in a mocking tone.

"Which is what, to be more than a glorified chemist?" Jarvis replied. By now the two boys were in each others' faces.

"Boys please," Édith interrupted, bored of their argument. They reluctantly backed away from each other. "Did you make it?" she asked Silas, changing the subject.

"In fact, I did," he said, pulling out a bottle from his bag. "And did you do your part?"

"Of course," she replied with a smirk, picking up the gold box she had set down earlier. "You do not know how hard it was to get out of the house with this."

Silas smiled as he laid his eyes on the box. "By the time anyone figures out it is gone it will already be done. They won't be able to stop us."

"Are we sure we want to go through with this?" Jarvis asked.

"How am I not surprised you're chickening out at the last second?" Silas said bluntly.

"I'm not chickening out," Jarvis protested.

"Then let's begin," Silas replied, challenging him. "Open it," he commanded to Édith.

She opened the box and it began to glow, just as it had done the night Clara's grandmother had opened it. After a few seconds the light died down and Édith reached into the box. She pulled out a perfectly smooth crystal sphere.

"Isn't it amazing?" Édith whispered.

"What is it, exactly?" Jarvis asked.

"Just raw, magical energy, waiting to be let out," Édith explained. "They're called The Orbs, everyone in the family has one. This one is mine. Every time new witches are born some of their powers are extracted and sealed off in an orb so they can't become too powerful or destructive."

"My family invented them for the Delacroixs. They're probably one of the greatest achievements in alchemy," Silas added. "May I?" he asked. Édith handed him the orb and he held it up to his eye. The light from the lantern shone through it and refracted against the wall. "There is more power in that little thing than you can even imagine." He set the orb gently on the ground and they all sat around it in a circle. He reached for the bottle he had pulled out earlier and set it down beside it. "Now, here's where I come in," he added. "This will allow us to open them."

"And what happens when we open them?" Jarvis asked, trying to hide his nerves.

"All of the energy will be unleashed," Édith replied. "It will be chaos. That is why before it gets out you must chant the spell, just like we practiced. That way it will know which direction to flow and transfer to your bodies."

"In other words, don't mess this up," Silas taunted.

"Do it now," Édith demanded, overwhelmed with excitement.

Silas removed the cork from the bottle and thick vapor started to flow out of it. He began to pour the substance over the orb. It covered the orb in a thick, black liquid. After about a second of being exposed to the air, the liquid hardened over the orb. Jarvis looked up at Édith, and she returned his gaze with a look that signaled him to start the spell. The boys began to chant and as they did, the black shell around the orb began to crack down the middle. Through the crack burst a powerful stream of bright, white light that shot up straight into the air.

All of a sudden the sound of screams started to fill their ears. Jarvis looked over to see Édith, hunched over on the ground. She was writhing in pain and blood was pouring out of her nose and ears. Jarvis tried to run over to her, but he was knocked backwards by a powerful blast. Then, the whole scene exploded into a blinding white flash.

Everything began to spin again. Clara and Lydia felt themselves thrown onto the ground. When they were able to see again, they realized they were in the cemetery. They were surrounded by dozens of people, clad in all black.

"This must be Édith's funeral," Lydia whispered. The two girls began to look around. Amongst all of the faces Clara was able to make out Jarvis's. He was standing at the back of a crowd of people who were watching the funeral, trying not to be noticed. Suddenly he looked as though something caught his eye, and then he wandered off.

"Follow him," Clara said, and then the two girls began to make their way past the tall trees and headstones. He lead them just barely out of the cemetery and into the surrounding woods. Finally he came to a stop.

"How dare you show your face here," Jarvis said sternly, his eyes narrowing in anger.

"Aren't we hostile today," Silas coolly replied as he stepped out from behind a large tree. He leaned nonchalantly against its trunk, teasing Jarvis with his lack of concern.

"You shouldn't have come here," Jarvis continued. "You may have everyone else fooled, but not me. I know what you did."

"What I did," Silas replied. "You were just as much a part of this as I was."

"You're a liar," Jarvis accused.

"We both are," Silas replied. "I didn't exactly see you coming forth with the truth. That we were all practicing dark magic together. That this could have been any of our faults. You wanted to save yourself just as much as I did."

"It couldn't have been any one of our faults," Jarvis retorted.

"And how is that?" Silas replied.

"Because it was all you," Jarvis said. "I heard you, you changed the words to the spell on purpose. And now she's dead, are you happy?"

"You know nothing," Silas said, smirking. "And besides, you can't prove anything."

"Yes I can," Jarvis said, pulling out a brown, leather journal from his coat.

"Where did you get that, that's mine," Silas shouted, lunging forward at Jarvis. Jarvis managed to block him and he fell to the ground.

"You never wanted us to all have powers and be equals," Jarvis began. "You planned to kill her and steal it all for yourself."

Silas laughed before he began to speak. "I guess you've caught me," he sneered.

"It didn't work and now she is gone. Why did you do it?" Jarvis began. "Were you jealous? Was it because she loved me and not you?"

"Jarvis, always just one step behind, aren't you?" Silas mocked. "I wasn't lying when I said it wasn't about love."

"So it was all about power?" Jarvis said, his brows furrowing.

"Exactly," Silas replied.

"I don't believe you," Jarvis continued. "I don't believe that you are that much of a monster."

"Monster," Silas scoffed. "You always try to see the good in everyone, don't you. That's why you don't really see anything."

"I can see all of what you are," Jarvis shouted. "Your a coward and a fiend. And now you're a murderer. And for what? Nothing. Your planned failed."

"That's where your wrong," Silas said, taking a step closer to Jarvis. He held out his hand and all of a sudden Jarvis fell to the ground, doubled over in pain. Blood began to pour out of his mouth as he gasped for breath. "The only part of the plan that failed was that you got out alive." Silas grabbed his journal out of Jarvis's hands and ripped some of the pages out. He threw the remains of the journal back at him and left him there, bleeding. Then everything went black.

As if jolted by a bolt of lightning, Clara and Lydia were thrown back into Clara's bedroom. The two girls both looked a bit shaken as they recovered from what just happened.

"So that's what the creature was after," Lydia said. "Your family's power source."

"Yes," Clara replied. "I had heard about these orbs but I was always told it was just a myth. But that must have been what my grandmother was trying so hard to protect. And now he has it."

"Now we just need to figure out who he is," Lydia said.

"I have a feeling this is only going to get more complicated," Clara sighed.

* * *

**Thanks so much for reading and sticking with me through this :)**

** Please leave a review or comment down below!**


	17. Ticking

**Hi everyone! ****I know, I know it's been over a month! But please forgive me as I was super busy with college...apparently classes get harder as you move up, can you believe that? :)**

**But now school is finally done for the year and summer has begun, which can only mean one thing: Teen Wolf is back on! I'm sure everyone's super excited.**

**So, to celebrate, here's a brand new chapter! More coming soon.**

* * *

**Chapter 17: Ticking**

"It's seven...am...as in the morning," Stiles grunted. "Why am I at school at seven in the morning?"

Stiles sat slumped over in his chair, his cheek smushed against the wooden table. For someone who was normally wakeful to the point of being jittery, Stiles did not do well with early mornings. He, along with Scott and Isaac, had arrived at school an hour and a half early, upon Lydia and Clara's request. The girls had information to share and didn't want to waste any time. The librarian looked on at the two boys with quiet suspicion. It was rare for her to see students in the library at this hour, especially ones who typically frequented it for detention purposes.

"The girls said they found something," Scott replied calmly. He was tired too, but if the past few months of being a werewolf had taught him anything, it was that chaos doesn't sleep.

"The least they could do is be on time," Stiles mumbled.

"We've literally been here for one minute," Isaac said, rolling his eyes.

"That's one minute I could be in bed, dreaming of much better things than being in school or tracking down mutant killer beasts," Stiles retorted.

"Your wet dreams can wait, Stilinski," Isaac sneered.

"Ha ha," Stiles said sarcastically. He was too tired to think of a better comeback, but there was certainly one coming in the foreseeable future.

"Can you two chill," Scott interrupted. "Your arguments are so paltry."

The other two boys began to laugh, prompting the librarian to give them a severe glare.

"You need to lay of that word of the day calendar," Stiles mocked. Scott gave him a swift punch to the shoulder.

"God! Me mortal, you superhuman werewolf," Stiles said as he recoiled in pain, grabbing his shoulder. "Do you not remember that?"

"Sorry, I'll take it easy next time," Scott said with a grin.

"Thanks," Stiles said. "Wait, next time-"

Stiles was cut off by the sound of very deliberate throat clearing, the kind teachers use when it's time to pay attention. The boys turned around to see Lydia and Clara behind them. As usual, Lydia looked polished and put together, donning an emerald green blouse that highlighted her effortlessly styled red hair, dark denim jeans, and heels that were more than inappropriate for school, which made them one hundred percent Lydia. Clara on the other hand opted for a more demure look, wearing a dark red, plaid dress that stopped mid-thigh with short heeled black booties and a black cardigan. Her brown hair fell messily down her shoulders and her barely made up skin glowed.

"Stop staring," Scott whispered.

"I'm not," Isaac said defensively.

"I meant Stiles," Scott replied.

"Uh, yeah, of course," Isaac mumbled self-consciously, trying to play it cool.

A small smirk spread across his face as he saw Isaac's cheeks flush with pink. But there was no time to dwell on his friends embarrassment. The teasing would have to wait for another moment.

"Glad you got your beauty rest and had time to stop for coffee while we dragged our asses up here on time," Stiles joked as the two girls sat down at the table.

"Whatever Stiles," Lydia said, semi-playfully. "It's not even that early."

"So what'd you find?" Scott inquired.

"We found out what the coven was up to," Clara stated. "Like we suspected, they were tying to all become witches. Édith was going to give them powers by unleashing her 'Orb.' "

"It's like a glowing crystal ball of magical energy," Lydia explained. "Pretty, but very dangerous."

"Like all the girls I know," Stiles interrupted.

"Exactly," Clara said, barely noticing the boy's comment. "Everyone in the family has their own. The Orbs were created with the intention of keeping power in check, so no one could ever get too dangerous."

"But, if Jarvis Hale was already a werewolf, why would he want to become a witch?" Isaac asked.

"He wasn't a werewolf," Clara answered. "He was a human, born into a pack of werewolves. The black sheep of the family."

"So he was probably easily lured by the promise of powers," Scott implied.

"Not exactly. It seems like this Jarvis Hale was a very conflicted boy," Clara continued. He wanted to be special, like all kids do, but he was apprehensive about magic, especially the risky stuff Silas and Édith were into. But, he was in love with Édith, and she convinced him to join the Coven and to do the spell with them."

"Love, you manipulative bastard," Stiles interjected, causing the rest of the table to look up at him. "Why is it only ok when they interrupt?" he wondered out loud.

Without giving the boy much attention, Clara continued. "But, it seems like after they formed the Coven he became afraid of Silas. He thought he was dangerous, but couldn't convince Édith. He didn't trust him, but he couldn't stop him ether."

"It wasn't until it was too late that he realized what Silas was really up to," Lydia said. "He changed the words of the spell, intending for Jarvis and Édith to get killed so he would have the power all to himself. But somehow he went wrong and only Édith died."

"Wow, what a dick," Stiles added.

"Then, at Édith's funeral, Jarvis confronted Silas." Clara recounted "He had found Silas's journal, and read about what he had planned to do, including the spells he used. Then Silas ripped the incriminating pages out of the journal, I'm assuming they are the same ones he had buried with him. And then he killed Jarvis, in cold blood."

"And that's where the whole feud starts," Isaac stated.

"Exactly," Clara answered.

"But where does all of the stuff that's going on now start?" Scott asked.

"That we still don't exactly know," Clara replied with a hint of frustration in her normally calm voice. The whole group was visibly strained, and it showed on their tired faces. "But we do know one thing. That goes back to The Orbs, I mentioned a moment ago. That's the more important thing to take away from this."

"How so?" Scott inquired.

"Right around the same time this all started my grandmother sent me out on an errand to retrieve a box from Esmé's shop."

"Lady Esmerelda, the psychic who died," Stiles reminded everyone. "First victim."

"Right, she was a friend of my grandmother's and the night I picked up the box was the night she was killed. Anyway, we saw the same box in Jarvis' memories. What is inside the box is the same thing they tried to open that night over a hundred years ago: The Orbs" Clara explained. "I didn't know they existed before now. That is what he stole from my grandmother. Clearly he is trying to repeat the past. But to do it right this time."

"So, we have to stop him from opening that thingie then," Stiles added.

"Well, that would be ideal," Clara replied. "But we don't even know who or where he is. Now that he has it, the clock is ticking."

"At least he doesn't have the exact spell," Lydia added. "Whatever was in Silas' journal didn't work, so we might have some time before he figures out the real one. I hope."

"Whose does he have?" Isaac questioned. "The Orbs, you said everyone in your family has one. Which one does he have?"

"I don't know," Clara said, looking down somberly. "The rest of my family is dead, so there are only two options. My grandmother's or-"

"Yours," Isaac whispered softly. The whole table went silent for a moment. They had always taken this threat seriously, but it really dawned on everyone that time was not on their side. Scott spoke first.

"We're not going to let him...you know," he said.

"Thanks Scott, but it's not really in your hands," Clara replied.

"Surely your grandmother must know whose it is," Stiles suggested.

"Probably, but she isn't exactly in a talking mood right now," Lydia replied. She gave Stiles a look as if to ask how he could be so silly.

"Maybe there's other ways you could find out. You know, magic ways," Stiles said, lowering his voice on the word magic.

"I could try," Clara said. "But it is often difficult to use magic on witches that are more powerful than you. They usually have many defenses. I was planing on going to the hospital after school to visit her. I'll see what I can do."

"Ok," Scott said. "Meanwhile, we can work on trying to track down this...whatever it is."

"How do you plan to do that?" Lydia asked.

"I'm not sure," Scott replied. "Maybe we should talk to Derek and Deaton first. Form a solid plan."

"Sounds good," Stiles replied.

"And maybe even...," Scott began, taking a beat before finishing his sentence.

"What? Argent?" Stiles exclaimed. "Are you insane?"

"I know he doesn't like us. Well, he kinda hates us. But he's helped in the past," Scott said, defending his idea.

"But I mean, do you really want to go there again?" Stiles questioned.

"Who is this?" Clara asked.

"He's a hunter," Isaac told her.

"No," Clara said firmly. Returned to her voice was the hatred that had once been reserved for werewolves. "No hunters."

"Clara, I know you have hostility towards them from the past, and trust me, so do we, but Argent's good at what he does. He knows how to hunt down a beast," Scott said, trying to persuade her.

"I can't," Clara said. "I can't work with people who would exterminate an entire innocent family-" she cut herself off before she could get emotional.

"You're upsetting her," Lydia snapped.

"It's fine," Clara said, shaking her head.

"I know it's not ideal," Scott said. "But he's not like the other hunters. He has ethics."

"I vote we talk to Derek first and try to take this thing down ourselves," Isaac said. "Argent should be a last resort. If he would even help, that is."

"Yeah, I'm actually kind of agreeing with Isaac," Stiles said.

The bell rang for first period, signaling the end of their conversation. It was going to be difficult carrying on through the rest of the school day, knowing what was going on.

"Ok," Scott said. "We'll talk to Derek."

Then, the group got up from the table and gathered their things. They began to disperse from the library and head off to their respective classes. Clara was about to make her way down the hall when she felt something tug gently at her arm. She looked up and realized it was Isaac.

"Can we talk?" he asked, his pleading eyes staring down at her.

"I really have to get to class," Clara replied uneasily.

"Please, just for a second," he maintained. "I'm sure you can turn the clocks backwards or something, no one will notice," he added, smiling a little to try and break the tension.

"Fine," she breathed, after hesitating for a second. He pulled her aside into an empty classroom and closed the door. Clara looked around nervously at the empty desks and inspirational posters on the walls. She wasn't prepared to have a conversation with the boy. She had spent so much time trying not to think about it that she couldn't conjure up much to say.

"We never really talked since," Isaac began. "You know."

She assumed he meant the time she spent the night in his bed. Innocent as it was, it still made her feel embarrassed and confused.

"Is there really much to talk about?" she replied, hugging her books to her chest. "I had a weak moment and-"

"And I was there," Isaac finished. Clara didn't feel great about how this was going so far.

"Look, Isaac," Clara began. "It's just not a great time for...whatever this is."

"You're probably right," Isaac sighed. "It is a distraction. But I can't help but feel there is something more. I feel like I can let my guard down with you because you know how it feels to not have anyone else."

"You have Derek and Scott-"

"I mean someone who really understands. You've seen through me since day one. There's something about you, Clara, and I just can't let that go."

Her lips parted slightly as if she was about to say something, but then nothing came out.

"I know this is the worst timing, and you have- we all have- a million other things to focus on," Isaac continued, placing his hand on her forearm as she held onto her books. For the first time she didn't recoil and didn't look away. "But I want you to know that I'm here for you. I'll do whatever it takes to beat this thing and keep you safe."

"That's...that's very kind of you," she said softly, looking into his eyes. As she looked at him she didn't see the eyes of a werewolf she only tolerated because of a common enemy. She saw the eyes of a person who was sincere. He had the same look in his eyes as he did at the hospital when he offered to take her in for the night. She unwrapped her other hand from underneath her books and placed it on top of his. Not so much as a gesture of love, but of understanding.

"You should probably get going," he said. The late bell had already rung, but Clara had barely noticed it.

"I should," she replied. Then, the two abandoned the room with a better understanding than when they had entered it.

* * *

**Thanks so much for reading! Please remember to leave a review/comment down below, It really means a lot!**


	18. Inquiry

**Hi everyone! Here's a brand new chapter. I'm super excited about this one, I think it's one of my ****favorites! I hope you like it :)**

* * *

**Chapter 18: Inquiry**

Clara leaned her head against the half opened window of Lydia's car as the breeze flowed gently through her hair. The sun had not yet set, but it was still pretty dark outside because of the thick clouds overhead. The few street lights that lined the main road would soon be the only source of light outside. The radio was quietly playing some banal pop song in the background that was sure to be stuck in her head for days to come. After a while, the station cut out and became fuzzy to the point where the music was barely intelligible.

"Ugh, why do I even bother listening to the radio anymore," Lydia wondered aloud as she pushed the button to switch the station several times in hopes of finding something decent to listen to.

"Because silence is deafening," Clara sighed. As Lydia's arm was stretched out towards the dash board, Clara noticed the stack of bracelets she was sporting on her wrist. She figured she might as well make small talk while the radio was out. "Cute bracelets, are they new?"

"Um, kind of," Lydia answered glancing down at her arm. "My dad brought them back from his trip to New York as a way of saying 'I haven't totally forgotten you exist.'"

"Must be hard having parents that are always gone," Clara mused.

"Yeah, well, it's harder when they're always around," Lydia joked. She was trying to keep the conversation light hearted, but she felt a bit uncomfortable complaining about her parents in front of Clara. There really wasn't much of a comparison.

"Well, thanks for driving me, you really didn't have to," Clara said as Lydia pulled up to the front of the hospital. "You don't have to stay if you don't want. I can take a taxi back."

"It's totally fine," Lydia replied as she came to a stop.

Clara gave the girl a small smile before she opened the passenger door and began to step out into the street. She crossed in front of the car and onto the sidewalk. From the open window on the driver's side, Lydia began to speak again.

"I'll go around the back and find a park, and then I'll meet you in the lobby when you're done, k?"

"Sounds good," Clara said. "I'll try not to be to long."

Clara raised one hand and waved as Lydia's car drove away. Then she made her way through the sliding doors of the hospital. She wasn't a fan of hospitals. They were so sterile and blindingly white. She made her way toward the elevator and ascended to the upper floor where her grandmother had resided for that past few days. As she walked down the hall, she saw several sets of families gathering around their loved ones as she passed by their windows. It hurt her to think about how the only visits her grandmother was getting were from her.

As she stepped into her grandmother's small room, she noticed how empty and cold it felt. With a snap of her fingers, the room was suddenly filled with her grandmother's favorite flowers. But not balloons. She knew her grandmother would think they were tacky.

"That's better," she said to herself as she entered the room more. She pulled up the extra chair beside her grandmother's bed and sat down. She was relieved to see she looked much better than the night she had been attacked. Her wounds were healing and her face looked peaceful, more like the grandmother Clara knew.

"Hi," Clara breathed as she looked at her. She knew she wouldn't respond, but it felt strange not to speak aloud in her presence. "Things are getting kind of crazy around here without you. I have some things I need to ask you. Well, things I need to find out, I should say."

Clara felt uneasy about what she was planning to do. She was going to use magic on her grandmother to try to extract any information she could out of her. It wasn't exactly the most ethical thing to do to a loved one without their permission, but it needed to be done.

As bright as she was, Clara wasn't the most skilled enchantress when it came to performing demanding magic like this. She was only a young girl, after all. There was always an added degree of difficulty when it came to doing magic on more experienced witches. But Clara had spent a few days racking her brain for anything she could try to get the job done. Hopefully what she had come up with worked.

But first, she needed to prepare the room. "Fermé," she said softly, sending the white curtains across the window. Then, she sent out a signal that would render the security camera useless. She closed her eyes and began to concentrate on her next spell. Within a few seconds she had summoned a sort of force field that encapsulated the room, keeping any unwanted people from seeing or hearing what was happening.

She turned her attention back to her grandmother, who was lying motionless, seemingly unaware of the tubes running through her and the miscellaneous beeps and hums that emitted from all of the machines she was hooked up to. Clara reached inside her backpack and pulled out a small pouch. She unzipped it and removed two items. The first looked like a long wand made of crystal that got narrower towards the top until it was needle sharp. The second was a flat disk of quartz, which helped in clearing the mind.

Clara propped her grandmother up with a few pillows so she was able to reach her neck. Then she placed the disk into her grandmother's right hand. Next came the hard part. She had to embed the sharp tip of the wand into her grandmother's spinal column without severing the cord and paralyzing her, or worse. This was the riskiest magic Clara had ever done and she was nervous as hell. She took a deep breath and moved as carefully as she could, trying to prevent her hands from shaking. With gentle precision, she slid the needle under her grandmother's skin and into her vertebrae. Suddenly, her grandmother's eyes lit up a bright blue color. Where the wand had entered her body several glowing branches began to appear. They wrapped themselves around her nerves and traveled up her neck to her brain and down her right arm.

Quickly, Clara placed her own hand over the one she had placed the crystal in. The branches that traveled down her grandmother's arm began to wrap themselves around hers too. Her own eyes began to glow and she could feel part of her mind becoming merged with her grandmother's. The lights in the room began to flicker almost causing a blackout, but then they began to glow brighter, illuminating the room to a point that the human eye could not handle.

"What do you know about the creature that is attacking us?" Clara asked. Her grandmother remained silent, but her voice rang out through the room, as if it was independent of her body.

"He is a lost soul. He is trapped," her voice spoke.

"What does that mean grandmother?" Clara inquired. But there was no answer.

"Who is he," Clara asked.

"He has not returned. He never left," came the voice. "He does not control it."

Clara was confused. She was hoping for answers, not more cryptic riddles.

"What is his name," Clara pressed further. But no answer came, only a fuzzy white noise. It was as if part of her grandmother's thoughts had been censored. She must have some things locked away.

"Why does he want our Orbs?" Clara asked.

"You are not supposed to know about the Orbs," the voice replied.

"But I do, and I need to know more. It is important, please," Clara pleaded.

"It is none of your concern," the voice boomed.

"I need to know who's it is," Clara asked. "He has it and we think he's going to try and open it. One of us could die. Please tell me, who does it belong to."

Once again, all that she heard was the white noise. The noise began to grow louder until it was deafening. The lights began to flicker again, only much more violently. Bulbs began to explode, sending glass flying around the room. All of a sudden her grandmother began to squeeze her hand with brute force. The edges of the flat crystal in between them cut into Clara's hand, which bled out onto the white sheets. Clara screamed in pain at the stinging feeling. Then the crystal began to disintegrate between their palms until there was nothing left but sparkling dust. The glowing branches that had attached to her nerves began to recede back into the wand. Then the wand in her neck began to shatter down its length until there was nothing left of it.

The room went black. Clara was shaking in her chair, stunned by what she just witnessed.

"Réparer," she said, breathing heavily. All of the shards floated back up towards the ceiling, repairing themselves as if the scene was being rewound. Then the lights turned back on and the room looked like nothing had happened.

Clara stood up, grabbed her bag and threw it over her shoulder. She reversed all of the protection spells before leaving the room. Her cut right hand was aching with pain as she held it in her left down below her waist, trying to hide it. She just wanted to leave the hospital as quickly as she could without being noticed.

"What happened," a voice said from behind her. She recognized it before she even turned around. It was the nurse who greeted her when she woke up the last time she was in the hospital: Scott's mother. Clara turned around to face the woman, prepared to erase her memory like last time. "Wait, don't do that thing again, it gives me migraines."

"What," Clara blurted out, shocked. How did she know?

"Scott told me," Melissa began. She looked around to see who else was in the room and then lowered her voice significantly. "About what you can do."

"Did he," Clara replied, slightly annoyed that the boy would divulge her secret to someone who she didn't know.

"Yes," Mrs. McCall replied. She took Clara by the arm and ushered her off into a supply closet while no one was looking. "Anything you need help with, you can just come to me. Well, anything medical related. I don't really get into the whole, you know, werewolf thing."

"Oh, um, thank you," Clara stammered. She wasn't used to having so many people wanting to look out for her. She watched as the woman grabbed a kit of supplies down from a shelf.

"Now let me see that hand," she said. Clara extended her palm out to Melissa, who placed her own hand underneath it as she examined the wound. "Oh good, it's not too deep. You won't need stitches. That'll save you a small fortune," she said, laughing to herself. She had very friendly eyes and something about her made her seem trustworthy. "This is going to sting."

Clara whimpered softly as the nurse cleaned off her cut with rubbing alcohol. Then she began to bandage it up with gauze.

"Too bad you can't do that healing thing," Mrs. McCall joked. "Would save you a lot of trouble."

"Yeah, that's kind of...beyond my realm," Clara replied.

"Ok, you're all done," Melissa said.

"Thank you, Mrs-" Clara began.

"Melissa," the nurse replied. "It's really no problem. Stay safe, ok."

"Ok," Clara answered. Then she exited the closet when no one was paying attention and headed towards the elevator. In all she wasn't feeling great about everything. She had gained another ally, which was great, but now had more new questions than answers.

* * *

Deaton stood over a tall metal table, focused absolutely on the grey cat that lay stretched out before him. He examined it thoroughly, making close observations about it's current state.

"All done," he muttered to himself as he put down his tools. He picked the cat up gently and carried it over to a metal cage where it would wait longingly for its owner to arrive. As he began to shut the cage's door, he felt that he was no longer alone.

"I had a feeling I'd be receiving a visit from you soon," Deaton said, without even having to look over his shoulder to see who had entered. He turned around carefully to face his visitor, pulling off his gloves as he moved. Before him stood three of what were starting to become his most frequent clients.

"We need some answers," Derek said.

"He means we've come to you for help," Scott interrupted, trying to make up for Derek's habitual lack of manners.

"That's usually how it goes," Deaton replied, a friendly smile spreading over his face. "Now, what can I do for you?" he added, his serious tone defying his pleasant demeanor.

"It's about the creature," Isaac stated. "We need to stop it before it strikes again."

"We thought you might have some ideas about what the hell this thing actually is," Scott added.

"Well, based on what you described to me after it attacked you," Deaton began, referring to the time Derek and Peter were pounced on by the creature a few weeks ago. "Skinwalker still seems like a strong possibility, but it's hard to say when I haven't seen it for myself. The claw marks on the victims aren't conclusive of anything else but an actual mountain lion, which goes against what's been described."

"It definitely had the outer...shell...of a mountain lion," Scott started, struggling to find the right word to describe the beast. "But it was definitely altered somehow."

"The only thing I can't seem to think of is who would be playing with this kind of magic," Deaton replied. "I contacted everyone I know who has any experience with this kind of practice, but I could not find one who could explain what we were dealing with. It seems like whoever this is, they are not operating within any kind of system. It must be someone on the fringe who is playing with dark magic by their own rules. That's probably why it's so...feral."

"So what does that mean?" Derek asked. "Is it like the kanima? Is it just going to get worse the more it defies nature?"

"I'm not completely sure," Deaton answered. "But my theory is this: the more it tampers with the balance of things, the more animalistic it will become."

"Meaning, it will start to loose it's human side more and more," Scott added.

"Good Scott," Deaton replied. "That's exactly where I was going."

"So, if it becomes less human, won't that mean it will become harder to control?" Isaac inquired. "Harder to kill?"

"Maybe. But it could also mean that its intelligence will decline. That might weaken its defenses, making it easier to confuse-"

"And easier to destroy." Derek finished. The vet gave him a knowing look, indicating they were on the same page.

Suddenly, the sound of a door creaking open shifted everyone's attention. Those in the room with more acute senses could hear the sound of footsteps coming from the lobby.

"Let me go check who that is," Deaton said.

"Wait," Scott said, focusing hard on what was coming from the other room. "I know that scent. Argent."

"What's he doing here?" Isaac wondered out loud.

"I suppose we should find out," Deaton answered. He crossed the room and opened the door. As he entered the front section of the building, he was met with the steely eyes of Chris Argent. "How can I help you?" he asked, sounding like any ordinary veterinarian.

"I have something you might want to see," Argent replied.

* * *

Lydia drove away from the main entrance of the hospital where she had dropped off Clara and turned into the parking lot. She drove up and down for a few minutes trying to find an empty space, but she had no luck.

"Seriously, did everyone decide to come to the hospital today," she mumbled to herself, annoyed. "Maybe there's more parks around the back."

She drove around the building towards the back parking lot. Where the front lot had been illuminated by street lights and the light from the hospital itself, the back was dark and empty, but for a few other cars. Lydia felt a bit creeped out, so she parked as close to the building as she could. For a second she thought she heard something approaching her car. She whipped her head around to look out the window, but did not see anything.

"It's all in your head," she quietly assured herself. She put the car into park and then reached for the keys. With one swift motion she turned the car off and pulled the keys out, stuffing them into her pink purse. She was about to roll up the open windows before she heard the noise again. It was louder now and sounded closer with each passing second. She was now freaking out, her heart rate and breathing increasing beyond her control. Suddenly her car jerked towards the right, as if something had smacked into it. "No no, please no," she pleaded aloud as her car began to tip, its left wheels leaving the ground. Then, the car dropped back onto all four wheels with a rocking thud that almost sent her head into the steering wheel. Luckily her hands stopped her from experiencing the blow. With her hands tightly gripping the steering wheel, she began to slowly lift her head up. Hyperventilating, she turned her head and looked out the window again. She saw a shadowy figure standing before her, its hands menacingly creeping over the rolled down glass, inching towards the lock. Lydia screamed, hoping for once someone would hear her.

* * *

Scott, Isaac and Deaton sat quietly in Derek's jet black Camero as he drove closely behind Argent. The hunter was leading them down a shoddy dirt road to an unknown place quite a ways outside of the city. Though Chris never broke his stoic exterior, his sense of urgency was visible. Scott couldn't help but think back to earlier that day when everyone had vetoed the idea of working with Argent. That didn't get very far.

The streets were dark, the only light coming from the two cars. Either side of the dirt road was heavily lined with tall trees and an air of ominousness. They were several miles away from the town and they were all anxious to see what Argent had to show them. Finally, they came to an abandoned cabin that stood alone in the forest.

"This isn't creepy at all," Isaac muttered sarcastically as they pulled up to the cabin. Derek and Chris both turned their car engines off, eliminating any source of light. He pulled a flashlight out of his jacket pocket and led them into the cabin.

"Where are we?" Scott asked.

"That's not important," Argent answered. "In fact, you might want to forget about this location as soon as we're done here," he added in a tone that made it clear he was not making a suggestion.

"Noted," Scott replied.

After they were all in the house, Argent led them into the living room. He leaned over and grabbed the large rug that was stretched out over the floor. With one swift motion he folded one half over the other, revealing a hidden door. He took a small, silver key out of his jacket pocket and undid the lock. With a strong pull he pried the door open, revealing a set of stairs that led deep under the house.

"Follow me," he said as he lowered his body into the opening. The rest watched as he descended down the stairs, disappearing into the darkness. Derek went next, followed by Isaac, Deaton, and then Scott.

The stairs were steep and the further they went, the more cold and damp it got. They had clearly ventured deep underground, much lower than any basement a normal house would have. They walked down a long, narrow chamber with stone walls, the only light provided by Argent's flashlight and the three werewolves' glowing eyes. Soon they came to a small, metal door that was chained off. Once more, Argent opened the locks that blocked their path and then unwrapped the several layers of chain that barred the door. With a labored push he opened the door and one by one they stepped through, anxiously waiting to see what Argent had to show them. As they entered, the first thing that hit them was the horrific stench that permeated the room. With a flip of a switch, Argent illuminated the whole space. The fluorescent lights slowly flickered on and off with a loud, electric hum until they reached stability.

Everyone in the room stood in awe of what they saw. Before them, trapped behind a large, metal cage that was pulsing with electricity, stood the Creature.

* * *

Clara stepped out of the elevator and into the main lobby of the hospital. She looked around the stark white room, searching for Lydia. She scanned the heads of all the lobby's patrons, waiting for the strawberry blond's to pop into her line of vision. She looked thoroughly, but could not find the girl who was supposed to be sitting patiently in one of the drab, uncomfortable hospital chairs. After a moment of searching, Clara pulled out her phone and began to dial the girl's number. The phone rang and rang, until the ringtone cut off and Clara heard Lydia's sassy voice.

"Hi, this is Lydia. You dialed me so you should know. Leave a message after the beep and I might find the time to get back to you. Toodles."

"Great," Clara mumbled as she hung up the phone. There's no way Lydia would just abandon her at the hospital, she thought to herself. She decided to step outside and try to spot her car in the parking lot. She looked and looked, walking up and down the rows of parks, but couldn't spot Lydia's. She tried to call again, but it was no use. Now she was really beginning to worry. She had reached the edge of the parking lot near the side of the building and there was still no sign of the girl. She decided to call again, just for good measure. This time her ears perked up as the phone rang. Now, she wasn't just hearing the phone ring from her end. She could faintly hear it ringing from the other side somewhere off in the distance. She knew it must not be too far away, as her hearing was no different than the average human's.

Clara stood absolutely still for a moment as she tried to discern what direction the sound was coming from. With caution she slowly began to move towards the sound, and she knew she was on the right path as the ringing began to grow louder. Now, she had ended up at the back corner of the hospital. It was a small area, slightly bigger than an ally, that was lined with large dumpsters and toxic waste bins that partially reflected the moonlight. As she looked down the ally, the light from the other side of the hospital became weaker, covering everything with blackness. She could barely see a thing in front of her. Clara was extremely creeped out, and she jumped a little when the ringing faded out and Lydia's voice began to fade in.

"Hi, this is Lydia. You dialed me so you should know. Leave a message after the beep and I might find the time to get back to you. Toodles."

Clara took in a deep breath once she realized that the voice was just coming from the phone. She threw her head back slightly in relief as her heartbeat started to slow back down. Above her head she could barely make out a broken street lamp, which gave her an idea.

"Illuminer," she whispered, then suddenly a bright light began to emit from the once defunct lamp. Her heart froze for a second when she realized what had been in front of her the whole time: Lydia's car. The driver's side door was wide open and Lydia was nowhere to be found. Now Clara was more than worried, she was scared.

She needed to get help, but she didn't know who to call. She couldn't call the police, they'd ask too many questions. Questions she just could not answer. She reached inside the car and picked up the girl's phone which was sitting in the cup-holder. She knew the password from hanging out with Lydia so much the past few weeks and quickly unlocked it. She opened the contacts and began to scroll through them, looking for someone who could help. The only names she recognized that would be of use were Scott and Stiles'. She hit the tiny green telephone icon next to Scott's name and listened impatiently as it rang.

"Come on, pick up, pick up," she said anxiously. But it was no use. After a few rings it went straight to voicemail

"Hey it's Scott, you know what to do-"

Clara released a small, frustrated scream as she hung up the phone. Frantically she scrolled through the phone again: no Isaac, no Derek. "Great," she said to herself. "I guess I'll try that other one." Once again she pressed the call button, this time for Stiles. The phone barely rang once before it was picked up at the other end.

"Lydia!" the overly excited voice cried. Then, after clearing his throat, he began again. "I mean hey, Lydia, what's up," he said, trying to sound cool.

Normally Clara would roll her big green eyes but now was not the time. "Stiles, it's Clara. I need help. Come to the hospital now. It's Lydia. She's missing."

"Whoa, whoa, what? She's missing, like gone?" Stiles yelled through the speaker.

"Yes, like gone!" Clara yelled back, frustrated. "Just get down here now!"

"Ok, I'm literally running down the stairs as we speak," the boy said. "Where are you exactly?"

"I'm in an alley behind the hospital with a bunch of dumpsters and stuff," she answered.

"Ok, I'll come find you. Don't stay there, wait for me inside where there's lots of people ok?"

"Ok, bye," Clara replied, and then she hung up the phone.

* * *

Several minutes later Clara was once again standing at the scene, this time with Stiles. The headlights of his Jeep helped to illuminate the dark alleyway as they searched the place for any idea of what happened to Lydia.

"So tell me exactly what happened," Stiles demanded, by now he was in full detective mode.

"She dropped me off in front of the building and then went to find a park," Clara answered. "She was going to wait for me while I visited my grandmother. But when I came down to meet her in the lobby, she wasn't there and she wasn't answering her phone. I searched the parking lot and couldn't find her car. Then I called her again and could hear the phone ringing. I followed it and ended up here. "

"Ok," Stiles replied, the expression on his face showed that the gears in his brain were turning fast.

"I just don't understand why she would come around here. The only parking is around the front and it wasn't full or anything," Clara said.

"Something must of led her here," Stiles answered. "She has a habit of winding up places she shouldn't be without knowing how she got there."

"I see," Clara replied. Lydia had told her about some of the strange things that had happened to her, but she was always vague about details.

"What's interesting is this," Stiles began, as he pointed towards the car. "There's no damage to the car or claw marks. The Creature normally tears apart anything in it's path."

"True," Clara muttered, leaning in closer. "So it couldn't have been the Creature then."

"Exactly," Stiles replied. Then he awkwardly climbed into the front of the car to examine it further. "But look here," he said, shining a small flashlight on the steering wheel. The material had been scratched with what looked like two sets of human nails. "Someone must have tried to force her out, but she tried to hold on," Stiles theorized. He ran his finger over the scratch marks. Flecks of her gold nail polish stuck to his fingers.

"Maybe it was the Creature in human form?" Clara proposed.

"Maybe," Stiles replied under his breath. He turned around and shined his flashlight around the scene. "He must have taken her this way, it's the only way out of here that doesn't lead back into the open," he said as he began to walk towards the back of the alley. There was a tall metal fence standing in their way. He noticed that one corner of the fence was not touching the ground, but was curling up slightly. Someone had cut through it to make a passageway. He leaned down and began to pull it up. "This must be how they got out. Would explain why it chose to use it's human form. Too small for the Creature but big enough for a human. No one would have seen them either."

"Look," Clara said, as she pointed to something laying on the ground. It was a delicate, gold bracelet, sitting in a small puddle beside the fence. Clara held it up so Stiles could see. "She was wearing a whole stack of these when we were in the car."

As Clara was about to hand the bracelet to the boy, she was startled by the sound of a phone ringing. She recognized the ringtone instantly. It was coming from Lydia's phone. She looked down at the screen. "Unknown," it read.

"Answer it," Stiles whispered as he stood up.

She pressed the answer button and put the phone on speaker, holding it between her ear and Stiles'. "Hello," she said. There was no reply, just the sound of deep breaths. "Who is this?"

"That's not important," a low, raspy voice answered. "You took something of mine so I thought I'd take something of yours. And they say the world isn't fair."

Then with a click, the voice disappeared and the phone went dead.

"We need to find her," Stiles said as he looked at Clara, his face a mixture of distress and anger. The sound of another phone buzzing broke his concentration. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his phone. The name "Scott" appeared on the caller ID.

"Scott hey, something-" Stiles began.

"You'll never guess what happened," Scott said.

"No, Scott, this is really impor-"

"Argent found the Creature," Scott stated.

"He what," Stiles cried. He and Clara both exchanged looks of bewilderment.

"He has him locked up in a remote cabin outside of Beacon Hills," Scott said. In his voice was a mix of caution and relief. "We got him."

"I wouldn't be too sure about that," Stiles replied.

* * *

**Well that was a long one! Tell me what you thought down below.**

**'Till next time...**


	19. Form

**Hi everyone! Thanks for all of the positive feedback. We're getting closer and closer to solving the mystery with each chapter so keep reading!**

* * *

**Chapter 19: Form**

"Lydia's missing," Scott informed the rest of the group.

"You mean missing in the way she's always missing or-," Derek began.

"I mean taken. According to Stiles someone took her from the hospital after she dropped off Clara," Scott reported. "Then they got a phone call from a man saying that since we took something of his, he took something of ours," he added, gesturing towards the Creature.

"So there's more to this then we thought," Isaac mused.

"And that means whoever is inside that," Scott said, pointing to the sedated beast. "Might be the least of our problems now."

"We need to find out who it's working with. Every attack dog has an owner," Argent stated.

"Maybe whoever this thing really is might be able to lead us to him," Scott replied.

"I've been trying to force it to change back into its human form, but nothing has worked. Not even several thousand volts of electricity," Argent explained, his brow furrowing.

"Maybe it's not so much a matter of changing him back," Deaton began. "Maybe we need to get him out."

"What, like cut it open?" Derek asked as he leaned against the stone wall, arms folded.

"Perhaps," Deaton replied. "But we need to be careful. We don't know the state of what is inside there."

"Well, I've got enough rounds of tranquilizer to keep him under for days if we need," Argent said.

"Let's start with that," Deaton answered. "If you put him under, we can get him on top of that table, and I can try to open it."

"Sounds like a plan," Argent said. Then he crossed over to the other side of the room and unlocked a large cage that hung on the wall. Inside it was dozens of guns and knives. He removed a large riffle that hung up in the cage and began to load it. "You might want to step back," he said. He pointed the gun at the creature and shot, sending a tranquilizer dart into it's side. The creature roared violently and pounced towards the metal bars of its cage. The charged bars glowed a bright blue as they electrocuted it, sending it into an even deeper rage. Argent shot at it again, several more times until it began to slow down. Finally, it was completely tranquilized. It looked menacing even as it lay on the floor motionless. Unshaken, Argent wiped the sweat from his forehead with his gloved hand and reloaded the gun, just in case.

He walked over to a metal box hanging on the wall and flipped open it's lid. He pulled down a lever and the blue waves of electricity disappeared from the bars. Then he unlocked the beast's cage and the three werewolves dragged him out. Then they managed to lift it up onto the table. As the harsh lights overhead shined down on the creature, they saw up close how grotesque it truly was. It's fur was matted and coated with blood and other unpleasant substances. It's bones jutted out in several directions, like they weren't quite sure what form they were supposed to take. The whole thing looked like the work of a mad scientist who'd gone too far.

* * *

Stiles parked his Jeep in the driveway and then led Clara up to the front door of his house. Clara noticed there was a police car parked outside as well, meaning his father must have been home. It must be a strange, she thought, always having a cop car outside of your house. Like you can never really leave work. Like danger was always there to fight off regardless of whether you were alert or not.

"Well, this is it," Stiles said as he flung open the door. Clara observed the interior of the house. It was quaint and well kept, but she could tell there was something missing and it had been for a while. She noticed a small counter with some photos on it and couldn't help but look. "My room is upstairs," he added, noticing she was lingering. He let her walk in front as they headed up the stairs. But midway something stopped them, causing them to turn around where they stood.

"Stiles where have you been, it's nearly ten-," Mr. Stilinski began as he entered the foyer. He stopped in his tracks when he noticed Clara. He wasn't used to his son bringing home pretty girls, or any girls for that matter. "Oh, hello," he said, feeling kind of proud of his son. Stiles could tell what his dad was thinking, which was so far from what was really happening.

"Dad, this is Clara," Stiles said.

"Right, from the hospital," the Sheriff answered. "I'm sorry about your grandmother. We're working on finding out who did this."

"Thank you," Clara answered. Judging by the sincerity in his voice, she could tell he didn't know about what was really going on. She couldn't help but notice how ironic it was that both Stilinski's were on the case, each with wildly different methods.

"We're doing a project for school," Stiles cut in.

"This late?" his father answered suspiciously.

"Yeah, we kind of...procrastinated," Stiles answered. "She's been kind of busy, you know," he added. For once one of his lies wasn't completely unfeasible.

"Right, of course," his father replied. "Stiles, can I talk to you for a quick second?"

"Uh, yeah," Stiles replied. "Second door on the right," he directed as Clara continued up the stairs.

"So?" his dad asked, looking excited.

"So," Stiles mimicked, knowing exactly what his father meant, but avoiding the conversation.

"That's a girl," his father stated, smiling.

"Really? Didn't notice." Stiles sarcastically replied.

"Smart-ass," his father replied. "So do you like her?"

"No," Stiles stated. "Sorry to disappoint you, but she's just a...friend."

"You still on that other girl?" his father asked.

_'Yes, I am still on that other girl because that other girl is probably tied to a chair in some creep's basement right now,'_ he thought. But of course he couldn't say that.

"Ugh, can we not have this conversation right now?" he said instead.

"Okay fine. But I'm not letting you off the hook that easily," his father teased.

"God, you're such a dork sometimes," Stiles teased back, rolling his eyes.

"Hey, I was a ladies man when I was your age," his dad replied. "You could learn a few things from me."

"Girls have changed since the class of '52," Stiles retorted.

"Ha ha," Mr. Stilinski replied

"Can I go now?"

"Yeah fine," his dad answered. "I'd say keep to door open but..."

"Oh, you're so funny," Stiles snarked as he climbed the stairs.

As he entered his room he found Clara sitting on the edge of his bed. He quickly ducked into another room and brought in a chair for her. She sat down and then pulled up next to Stiles at his desk. This was weird, she couldn't help but think.

"So," Stiles began. "Where should we start."

Clara reached into her bag and fumbled around a bit until she found Lydia's phone. She placed it on the desk in between them. "Let's figure out who made that call," she said.

"Ooh, are you gonna do that thing again?" Stiles asked.

"No, I thought you could do it," Clara replied.

"Really?" Stiles asked, his eyes widening with excitement.

"No," Clara said, picking up the phone.

"Sassy pants," Stiles muttered, causing Clara to roll her eyes.

"Ok, here it goes," she said. Then she closed her eyes and began to concentrate. She let her mind connect with the object, and began to learn about its history. Every call it made, every person who touched it. Every person but one. When she tried to see the last caller, everything went blank. She felt something pushing at her arm and opened her eyes.

"Clara, Clara," Stiles was frantically saying. "Can you hear me?"

"What are you doing?" She cried, annoyed that he would pull her out of her concentration zone while she was performing her craft.

"You're nose," he said, handing her a tissue. "It's bleeding." She wiped her face off with the tissue and then looked down at it. Surely enough, it was stained with dark red blood.

"He must have put a curse on it," Clara stated as she blotted her nose more. "Bastard."

"I guess we'll have to try the old fashion way," Stiles said, turning to his computer. He began to type away furiously.

Hours later Stiles was still attempting to trace the phone call, but it was proving much more difficult than they had hoped. By now it was almost four in the morning and they still had nothing. They had racked their brains endlessly trying to figure out what more they could do. But nothing led to any answers.

"Nothing," he said, jerking his head backwards as his hands few up in the air with exasperation. "This guy must be a CIA operative or something because there is no trace of him."

"Ugh," Clara sighed. "What else is there to do?"

"I don't know but I'm personally leaning towards three-year-old style temper tantrum," Stiles replied with an aggravated sigh.

* * *

Deaton stood over the creature, staring down at it with the focus of a brain surgeon. By now they had transformed the subterranean dungeon into a makeshift operating room. With a knife Argent had fetched him from his hunting supplies, Deaton began to cut into the monstrous beast. Isaac and Scott cringed as the knife went in. Deaton cut deep into the creature's mangy flesh, crimson blood gushing out. It filled the air with a dizzying stench.

He continued to slice through the skin of the beast with great difficulty. His hands were slippery with blood and he was loosing his grip. Then, his knife got stuck. He yanked at it with great vigor, trying to finish the incision, but it would not budge. Eventually, he lost grip of the handle. The five men watched as the blade of the knife slowly began to sink into the creature's body until it disappeared. Then, the open wound began to seal itself up again.

"That's not good," Isaac shuddered.

"It was worth a try," the vet sighed.

"But why didn't it work?" Scott asked.

"There must be another magical component we didn't factor in," Deaton replied. "Some kind of charm that needs to be broken first perhaps? I'd need to spend more time with it to be sure."

"We don't have much time," Isaac said. "Especially now that it has Lydia."

"You're right. You two go help Stiles and Clara. I'll stay here with Argent and Deaton," Derek ordered as he tossed Scott the keys to his Camero. "Don't scratch it."

"We'll call you if we find anything out," Scott answered.

"Likewise," replied Deaton.

As Scott and Isaac left the cabin they were surprised to see it was already well past midnight. It was going to be a long drive back into Beacon Hills.

* * *

Lydia awoke to the sound of old pipes running and dripping water. She slowly opened her eyes, revealing a dark, fuzzy image that she did not recognize. She had a raging headache and could barely remember anything that happened before she must have blacked out. Her body felt tired and she found it difficult to breath, as there was a piece of tape covering her mouth. She looked down and realized that she was chained to a bed. She began to thrash her body violently as she screamed, her voice muffled by the tape. After a while her body calmed down, as she realized there was nothing she could do. Inside her mind she was still panicking.

As her eyes began to focus, she realized she was in basement with solid concrete walls and no windows. The only source of light was the dim orange glow of a bulb that hung from the ceiling in the middle of the room. After her eyes had adjusted to the light, she noticed that there was a pair of eyes staring at her. She looked around the room and realized it was not just one, but dozens.

Mounted on the walls and hanging from the ceiling were dozens of dead animals. Not one corner of the room was free of them. They were terrifying and seemed to smile at her with wicked grins. Some of them were normal animals: cats, dogs, dear. But many were freakish monsters made from parts of different species.

"Your up early" a deep, gravely voice spoke in her ear. Lydia jumped with fear as the form of a man began to approach her from out of the shadows. He was tall and slender and wore a black suit and hat. His hat was tilted downward at an odd angle, shielding his face. Lydia couldn't make out his features in the darkness and he never once strayed towards the middle of the room where the light was. "Oh, silly me," he added as he leaned over her. He ripped the tape off of her mouth, which sent a wave of pain across Lydia's face. "Now don't start doing that screaming thing again or this goes right back on."

"Who are you?" Lydia shouted.

"That, my girl-" the man began as he strolled over to the other side of the room. He continued to speak with his back facing her as he observed the stuffed creatures in the room. "Is an unimportant detail."

"What are you going to do to me," she cried, her voice shaking with terror.

"Do to you? You must have one dark imagination," he said with a wicked tinge in his voice. "I suppose the decor would lead you to the wrong conclusion," he said, stroking a fox on the snout as he spoke. "Don't worry. I don't play with humans. Well, not like that."

"Then why am I here?" Lydia asked, tears rolling down her face.

"Ransom," the man said bluntly. "Your friends have something of mine. I want it back. Since there was little chance of them simply returning it to me, I figured we could make a trade. But I didn't want it to be too easy. So I thought I'd make a little game out of it while we're at it. Let's see how long it takes for them to figure out how to get you back. Now, if you don't mind. I have some work to get back to."

With that, he exited the small room, leaving Lydia alone in the dark once more.

* * *

**Hoped you liked it. Please leave a review!**

**More next week :)**


	20. Trail

**Hi everyone! Thanks for reading. Here's a brand new chapter!**

* * *

**Chapter 20: Trail**

Clara awoke to the smell of coffee filling her nose and bright morning light hitting her face. As she opened her eyes, she remembered instantly where she was. Please be a dream, she thought as she fought off closing her eyes again. She sat up and looked at the clock. It was seven in the morning. She had fallen asleep on Stiles' bed after a night of failed sleuthing. She looked down and saw him asleep on the floor in a position only his awkward body would find itself in. Then, she heard a knock at the door.

"Stiles, get up," the voice of Mr. Stilinski called. Stiles jerked up, hitting his head against the nightstand that stood beside his head.

"Shit," he muttered to himself as he groggily stood up.

"Stiles, you're going to be late," his father called again, knocking harder this time. "Don't make me come in there."

"Alright, I'm up," Stiles cried as he opened the door just wide enough so his father couldn't see inside. He did not want to explain why Clara was still there.

"Good morning to you too," his dad said sarcastically, sipping his coffee. "I'm leaving now. I better not get any calls from the school asking where you are, ok?"

"Yeah, I get it, 'school isn't optional,'" Stiles replied, cheekily mocking his father.

"Ok, bye. Don't get into trouble," his dad said.

"Me? Trouble?" Stiles replied, as his father headed down the stairs. Stiles waited until he heard the sound of the door close and lock, signaling the coast was clear.

"Yeah, we're so not going to school today," Stiles said to Clara.

"Well what are we going to do?" Clara asked exasperatedly as she tried to make herself look like she hadn't gotten only three hours of sleep. The cut on her hand was throbbing again and she just felt awful all around. "It's not like we have any more leads."

"I know, but there's gotta be something," Stiles said. "Something we missed or didn't think of."

"Or something you couldn't see," a voice said from outside of the doorway, causing Stiles to jump in panic.

"Oh my God Scott, have you heard of a doorbell," Stiles exclaimed. There, in the doorway to his bedroom stood Scott, along with Isaac, who had just gotten back into town after a long, disappointing night.

"Sorry," Scott teased. "You should be used to it by now. Also, do you have any food?"

"How can you think about eating right now!" Stiles cried.

"I could think about how to find Lydia a lot better if I wasn't starving," Scott replied.

"Ok fine. Let's take operation rescue our friend from a psycho to the kitchen then," Stiles exclaimed.

"So let's think about what we know," Scott said between bites of his cereal. They were all sitting at the Stilinski's kitchen table now, scarfing down down breakfast as they brainstormed. "So Lydia was taken from the back alley of hospital. But why was she there."

"We think whoever took her-" Clara began.

"Mr. Evil," Stiles interrupted.

"I'm not calling him that," Clara snapped. "We think _he_ lured her there with some kind of illusion. Maybe a trance."

"Can't say it hasn't happened before," Isaac cut in.

"And it was definitely human?" Scott inquired.

"Well, it definitely wasn't beast," Stiles replied. "Can never really be certain if that means human anymore."

"And the car was just left there?" Scott asked.

"Yes," Stiles replied. "Assuming it hasn't been towed by now."

"Then we should go there," Isaac said. "Maybe we can find a scent or something."

"Stiles, did your dad mention if she had been reported missing?" Scott asked.

"No, I haven't heard anything," Stiles answered.

"She was supposed to be spending the night at my house again," Clara said. "For all her parents know she's with me. They haven't tried to call her yet. They're kind of...inattentive."

"Ok, well that at least gives us a few hours to get ahead of the police," Stiles said. "I don't need them interfering."

"Aren't we the ones who would be interfering?" Clara wondered.

"That's not really how it works around here," Isaac replied, giving her a small smile.

"Ok, then let's get down there and see what we can find," Scott said. Then everyone cleared the table and filed into Stiles' Jeep. After several minutes of driving they were finally at the hospital. Stiles parked a few blocks away so no one would notice his car was not at school where it should have been.

The four walked through the parking lot and then snuck into the back alley. It felt so much different in the daytime. No one would have ever guessed what happened just the night before. Especially since Lydia's car was missing.

"Her car is gone," Scott stated as they surveyed the alley.

"Obvious," Stiles replied in a sing-song voice.

"Can you pick up a scent?" Clara asked.

"A little," Isaac replied. "It's been several hours and it rained a bit last night."

"Great," Clara sighed.

"Well, they could have only gone one way," Stiles said, showing Scott and Isaac the chain-link fence with the hole in it he and Clara had found the night before. "This is where we found her bracelet too."

"Then let's see what's on the other side," Scott said as he lifted up the flap, revealing the gap in the fence. "Come on," he said as he climbed through it. One by one the others followed.

On the other side of the fence was an empty lot littered with trash and other debris. They continued following Scott as he tried to sniff out a path. Once they came to the edge of the lot, something caught Clara's eye.

"Look," she said as she leaned down to pick up another gold bracelet, the kind Lydia was wearing the night she vanished. She pulled the other one out of her bag and held them up side by side, showing the boys.

"Just like the one we found last night," Stiles said.

"God, I'm so dumb. How did we not see it before," Clara cried.

"See what?" Isaac asked.

"Look," Clara began. "See the clasps on these? This isn't something that would just fall off. She must have taken them off."

"To leave a trail," Stiles replied.

"Exactly," Clara said. "She had five. If we find the rest-"

"Maybe we find her," Scott finished.

The four set out to find the rest of the bracelets, hoping the trail would lead them to Lydia. They walked for several miles through Beacon Hills, following her very faint scent that lingered in the air. Clara and Stiles were exhausted from trying to keep up with Scott and Isaac, but neither wanted to stop. With each finding they wandered deeper and deeper into the city.

"Number five," Isaac said as he picked the last gold bracelet off of the ground.

By the time they found the last one, they were in the heart of downtown Beacon Hills. The streets were busy, filled with people rushing off to work. Everywhere they looked there were offices and shops. There were streets and streets full of buildings, and Lydia could have been in any of them.

"Strange," Scott said, noticing the trail seemed to stop short. "I can't get a scent anymore. But why would he take her here? Are you sure there were only five?"

"Positive," Clara affirmed, as Scott handed her the bracelet.

"Then do your thing," Stiles said as the three boys stood around her in a semi-circle and watched as she began to utilize her powers.

Clara's mind was instantly dragged back to yesterday night. It was dark and foggy, the only light emitted by Lydia's car lights. She could see two shadowy figures walking off into the darkness. As they passed under a streetlamp, Clara could make out a bit more detail. First she saw Lydia. A piece of tape sealed off her mouth, and a chain was wrapped around her waist like some kind of leash. However, her arms were free, placed behind her back as she walked alongside her captor.

The man who had her was a tall, slender figure wearing a suit and hat. She could not see his face, but there was something familiar about him that she could not discern. But after a moment it hit her. She recognized his clothes and realized that he was the mysterious man she had walked into the night she retrieved the box from Esmé's shop weeks ago. If only she had seen his face then, she thought. As she watched them inch closer to the fence, she noticed that Lydia was fidgeting with her hands, trying to take her bracelet off.

Soon, Clara heard the sound of metal clinking against the ground. The first bracelet had fallen. As it hit the ground, the vision ended and Clara was sucked back into the present, having to switch to the next bracelet to continue the story. One by one each bracelet fell in a new location as they got closer to their destination. Finally, they had strolled into downtown Beacon Hills, right were Clara was standing now. The street was quiet, but not empty. There were a few people out, but none of them seemed to notice the girl who was being taken.

The glow of the streetlights illuminated Lydia's face, but the man's hat was pulled down, casting dark shadows on his face. He stopped for a moment and turned his head into the light. To Clara's surprise, he had no face, just a blur of flesh colored skin. As she heard the sound of bracelet number five hitting the ground, she was pulled out of the vision.

"He had no face," Clara shuddered, catching her breath from the jolt that brought her back.

"What?" the others said.

"The man who took her, he didn't have a face," Clara repeated. "I couldn't see where they went. All I know is that they passed here. There's nothing else after that. I don't know why I thought this would work. I mean, she could have ran out long before she got where he was taking her."

"It's ok," Isaac said, trying to reassure her. He put his arm around her shoulder, even though he was certain she would pull away. Surprisingly she didn't. "It's a good start. We'll find her. I promise."

"You can't promise that," Clara said softly.

"We're gonna try," Scott said. "Now, just tell us what you could see."

Clara took a moment to calm down before she spoke. "He had her tied around the waist with a chain and he was holding the other end," she began. "He walked with her from the hospital to right here-"

"How?" Stiles commented. "I mean wouldn't people have seen him carrying a girl by a chain and thought, I don't know, 'maybe she's being kidnapped!'"

"Well he clearly has no problem making people see things...or not see things," Clara answered. "He could have used any number of invisibility spells."

"Great, because we really needed more witches involved with this," Stiles murmured. "No offense."

"None taken," Clara sighed. "But there was something else. The man who took her. He's the same man I bumped into the night Esmé was killed. But I didn't see his face then either."

"But now we know for certain that this is all connected," Isaac said.

"One step closer," Scott said. "We've just got to keep going."

* * *

Derek, Argent and Deaton had stayed in the cabin overnight, working tirelessly to figure out how to free whatever wretched soul was trapped inside the creature. They barely noticed as night turned into day, all of their focus was captured by the beast. With every failed attempt they grew more frustrated and less optimistic.

"I give up," Derek growled, slouching against the wall. "Why can't we just kill this thing and be rid of it forever."

"Because dead men don't speak," Argent countered, vexed by the alpha's impatience.

"He's right," Deaton agreed. "We need him to talk."

"We don't even know for sure there's a him in there," Derek snarled.

"We can't rule it out," Argent replied, getting in Derek's face.

"Maybe we should take a break," the vet intervened. "Clear our heads for a while."

"Fine," Derek said, backing away from Argent.

"Help me get him back into the cage," Deaton added.

The other two men cautiously approached the table and lifted the creature from either end. Slowly they carried the tremendous monster over to its cage, trying not to let it slip out of their hands. With a violent thrash the creature ripped itself out of their hands. This came as a massive shock to the three men, who had made sure to sedate the creature with enough tranquilizer to knock out four elephants.

As the creature tumbled out of their hands and hit the floor, each man jumped back. Derek was ready to attack, claws splayed out and fangs on full display. Chris had a handgun drawn within milliseconds, ready to put down the creature in an instant. All their preparation seemed to go to waste, as the creature did not move. Just as they were about ready to relax, the creature made a move no one in the room could have expected.

The body of the creature itself remained still on the ground, but whatever was trapped within it began to shift. It moved slowly and clumsily. They watched as what looked like bones began to move around under the tightly pulled skin, bulging outwards like they were trying to break through. Then, to their horror, a long silver blade jutted through the beast's chest. It was the knife that had been sucked through when Deaton had attempted to cut the creature open. The creature released a furious roar that reverberated through the three mens' bodies. They watched in awe as the knife began to travel down the creatures chest, down to it's tailbone, blood gushing out as it tore through the matted skin.

With each move the creature made, Derek and Argent had to constantly remake the decision of whether to kill or watch. Guns and claws drawn, they still weren't completely sure that would be enough to take on whatever was about to crawl through the repulsive cavity. Suddenly, the creature stopped roaring and fell silent. The silence was even more eerie than its bone rattling cry. The light in its eyes went dead and its body grew limp and lifeless.

"What the hell just happened?" Derek said as he stared at the carcass in shock.

"Don't breath just yet," Chris said as he monitored the creature closely, gun aimed steadily.

After a few seconds of stillness, the mass within the creature's now inanimate body began to move once more. A bloody hand with long, wrinkled fingers glided slowly out of the slit it had created down the creature's underbelly. The other hand soon followed, grasping the other side of the now torn in half body. It began to slowly push apart the two pieces of skin, widening the gap it had carved for itself. The unpleasant sound of ribs cracking filled their ears as it ripped apart the body. It began to crawl out of the hole, revealing a skeletal human form.

The three men had seen many gruesome creatures in their lives, but none of them had ever seen a human reduced to such a horror as this. The look in his eyes was like a rabid animal, beyond reason or control. He was hunched over, his spine twisted from the time spent forcing it to behave like a four-legged creature. He made feral grunts that resembled nothing of human speech, but revealed the bloodlust and savagery that engulfed him. He lunged towards the first living thing his eyes met, armed with nothing but his own wildness. Deaton quickly rolled out of the way, barely escaping the feral man. Without hesitation Chris fired a bullet straight for the wild man's leg. He fell to the ground, writhing in pain. Then, he began to use his arms to crawl towards his enemies.

"Don't kill him," Deaton shouted, reminding them all that they still needed answers.

Argent fired again, this time hitting the man's shoulder. The man shrieked in agony as he bled out on the floor. Quickly Argent switched guns and fired a tranquilizer at him, sending him into a deep sleep. He collapsed on the floor beside the sack of skin and bones that was once the creature. He himself was hardly anything more than a sack of skin and bones as well. He was emaciated and pale, every vein in his body revealed by the overhanging lamp. He looked like a shadow of a man from where they were standing.

* * *

**Leave a review, thanks!**


	21. Origin

**Hi everyone! Thanks for all the great reviews! **

**This week's chapter was kind of an experiment with formatting, so I hope it works!  
**

* * *

**Chapter 21: Origin**

Clara, Scott, and Isaac sat slumped over in their seats as Stiles drove back into the suburbs. After hours of wandering around downtown Beacon Hills, they had become exhausted and discouraged. They walked up and down the streets and in and out of dozens of buildings trying to get any sign of Lydia's presence. But no scent or vibe from her could be detected anywhere. It was like trying to find a needle in a haystack, only the needle had probably been enchanted to look like more hay. They couldn't help but feel like she was somewhere under there noses, but unable to be found.

"Well that was a bust," Isaac sighed as they made their way home.

"There must have been something we missed," Stiles said, holding on to the hope that they could still find her in time.

"Maybe the others had better luck," Scott mused. The only hope they had left was tracing the creature back to its master.

"You're awfully quiet," Isaac said softly to Clara, who was leaning her head against the slightly rolled down window, her long hair tickling her face as the wind blew through it. She had been staring off into space for most of the car ride, but she turned her attention to the boy as he spoke.

"Not much to talk about," Clara answered. She wasn't in the mood for another pep talk, even though she knew he meant well.

The car fell silent for a while, only the rustling sound of the breeze flowing through the windows filled their ears. They were almost back to Stiles' neighborhood when the sound of Scott's phone buzzing recaptured their attention.

"Ok, we'll be there," Scott said after a few seconds of listening to the other end. "That was Deaton. He said to meet him at the clinic as soon as possible."

"What's going on?" Isaac asked.

"He didn't say exactly, but it must be important," Scott replied. "He said to bring Clara."

Stiles quickly looked behind him to make sure no one was coming and then quickly u-turned in the middle of the road. Clara felt her body slam into the door as the car spun around. After a few minutes they pulled up beside the building labeled "Veterinarian."

Even though it wasn't after hours yet, the lights were off and the closed sign was hung up on the door. Scott took out a set of keys and promptly let them in. They walked through the doorway, setting off a quiet bell as they did so. Clara could feel the presence of Mountain Ash lining the room. Walking into a new place completely defenseless wasn't exactly comforting to her, but she had learned to trust these werewolves, as counterintuitive as it felt. A bald, black man in a lab coat greeted them at the doorway, opening the gate for them to enter. He propped the gate open, breaking the circle, and then led them into a back room filled with medical supplies and caged animals. It all seemed like a fairly ordinary vet's office, but, there was one thing about the place that stuck out as abnormal: the unconscious man stretched out on the examining table.

The man was emaciated and sickly looking, like he had been living in a cave for years. His eyes were sunken in and lined with thick, dark circles. His teeth were rotten, many missing all together, and his face looked like it had been broken and not healed properly. He was restrained on the table with heavy, leather straps and had an IV drip attached to his arm, keeping him from waking up. The man was covered with a white sheet, but the parts of him that were visible were covered in dried blood. Judging by what she could see, the man didn't just look old, he looked ancient. On his head grew tufts of white hair and his hands and feet were veiny with sagging skin. Clara wondered if he really was old or if the trauma had made him look this way. She wasn't sure if she should despise him or pity him.

On the other side of the room hung the creature's hide. It was foul, covered in blood and mangy hair. It was cut lengthwise in an odd spot, which made it lay in a strange shape. It was unlike any animal skin she had ever seen displayed before. There were several tracks of thread sewn up and down it that were hidden from the outside. It was the only thing about the creature that could have been considered neatly done.

"So this is him," Isaac said as his eyes lingered on the man's face.

"Not what you were expecting, huh?" the vet replied. Then he turned to face Clara. "I'm sorry, I don't think we've been properly introduced. I'm Dr. Deaton."

"Clara," she replied. "Delacroix."

"I know of your family," he said, looking at her face as if to find something familiar. "Though there hasn't been much contact with them for many years."

"We're very private people," Clara replied, issuing her usual response. For a brief moment she reflected on her life before she started going to school in the open. Before getting entangled with strange creatures, werewolves and normal humans. How everything was so much quieter before.

"I've heard you're quite the talented witch," Deaton said, pulling Clara's attention back to him.

"Enchantress," Clara stated. The term witch didn't really bother her that much, but for some reason she couldn't stop herself from correcting him. The man wasn't bothered though, he just smiled at her with his eyes.

"I was hoping you'd be able to help us," he said, walking back over to the head of the table where the man slept. "I wanted to ask him some questions earlier when he was awake, but that proved to be...impossible," he added, opening the man's mouth, to reveal that his tongue had been cut out. The sight sent shivers down Clara's spine but she never took her eyes off of him, even as she heard Stiles gagging behind her.

"I can try," Clara answered, knowing that her past attempts of using her craft had proved useless.

"That would be much appreciated," Deaton replied.

Clara joined Deaton at the head of the table, staring upside-down at his face. She cautiously placed her hand on his forehead, which glowed softly as she connected to his mind.

"What is your name?" She asked. The answer rang inside her head in a haunting, gravelly voice.

"Silas Faust," the voice echoed.

"No, that can't be possible," Clara said, looking up at the rest of the group with wide eyes.

"What?" Scott inquired.

"He says he's Silas," Clara answered. Confused looks spread across everyones' face. Clara turned her attention back to the man on the table. "Silas Faust is dead."

"I live," the menacing voice said. "I will always live!" the man said again, this time shouting so forcefully that it caused the lights to flicker and Clara's mind to snap out of the connection.

"Clara, are you ok?" Isaac said, trying to get her attention as she stared blankly down at the man.

"I'm fine," she replied, breathing heavily. "Clearly he's not very talkative."

"Then, what should we do?" Stiles questioned.

"If he's not going to tell us, let's make him show us," Clara said. "Grab hands," she ordered. They did as she said and formed a circle around the table, hands linked.

"Why are you're hands so clammy," Isaac muttered, uncomfortable holding Stiles' hand. He much preferred the feeling of Clara's in his other one.

"This is weird for me too," Stiles countered.

"Stop talking," Clara said, silencing the two boys. "Close your eyes and clear your minds."

"Yes ma'am," Stiles said, prompting Scott and Isaac to elbow him on either side.

As Clara began to chant some foreign sounding words the world they stood in began to peel away. Each member of the circle began to feel a strange weightless feeling as their minds blocked out anything other than Silas' thoughts. They felt like they were being sucked into blackness until Clara gave the command to open their eyes. The scene played out like a film projecting onto their minds. They watched as everything unfolded around them.

"That's where your wrong. The only part of the plan that failed was that you got out alive," they heard a hateful voice say. The words were familiar to Clara's ears. It was Silas, standing above Jarvis Hales' dying body in the same moment she had seen before with Lydia. It was as if she had pressed play on a film that had been paused for decades.

Silas lingered for a moment, watching the young Hale boy bleed to death. There was no remorse on the boy's face. Just a satisfied expression, like he had just swatted a fly that had been bothering him. He seemed impressed with himself — with his newfound skills. The power he obtained from Edith's Orb was so raw and concentrated, it was like a magical high. He could not wait to test the limits of his abilities.

The boy's smug grin quickly disappeared as he heard the sound of footsteps rustling the dead leaves on the ground. His first instinct was to hide — to duck away quickly behind a tree or a bush. But then he thought of a better idea. He closed his eyes for a moment and began to concentrate hard. When he opened his eyes, he looked down at his body, which had seemingly vanished. The satisfied smirk returned to his face as two dark haired boys rushed right past him, oblivious. They stopped in front of Jarvis' bleeding body, falling to their knees.

"Jarvis...Jarvis," one of them said frantically. "Brother, what happened? Who did this?"

"F- F-...Faust," Jarvis managed to croak out before the light left his eyes. The older boy's eyes lit up a glowing blue as he growled so loudly that it shook the trees. The cry only meant one thing: war.

* * *

It was two o'clock in the morning. The woods were still, except for the rustling of nocturnal animals and the sound of crickets chirping through the night. Silas ambled through the darkness, not particularly caring if he ever got where he was going. He had spent countless hours off in the woods, practicing new spells and charms. Seeing how far he could take his new gift. In this moment, nothing else mattered. All of his attention was focused on his powers.

After a few more steps, he landed on the doorstep of a quaint, wooden house. It was the house he grew up in, but he no longer saw it as his home. All it was now was a barrier between him and greatness. A constant reminder of how inferior the family practice of alchemy was. His days of toiling with potions were done.

He was lost in his thoughts as he walked through the house, until suddenly he was rushed by a petite figure who clung to him tenaciously. It was his mother, sobbing as she embraced him. Silas was not amused by the flagrant display of affection, but he had to play along.

"My baby," his mother managed to say between sobs.

"What is it mother?" Silas said, trying his hardest not to sound cold. She could barely form enough words to answer him. He looked up and saw the cause of all this emotion through the doorway to the dining room. There, lying on the table were his two younger brothers, blood soaked from the claw marks that killed them.

"It was the Hales," Silas' father stated, approaching his now only living son with solemn eyes. He was holding a shotgun by his side. The blood of his sons stained his hands and clothes. "They think one of our boys killed Jarvis. This is their revenge."

"Monsters," Silas spat with faux rage. "They will pay for this."

"No son," his father said. "You must leave Beacon Hills tonight. They won't stop until all of our boys are dead."

"I'm not afraid of them," Silas said. "We should fight back."

"This is not a matter for boys," his father stated. "The men will take care of it."

"Please Silas," his mother sobbed. "Listen to your father."

"If that is what you want, then I will obey," he said, crouching down to look his mother in the eye. "But promise me one thing. Kill them all."

* * *

Silas left Beacon Hills behind him, never once looking back. He knew he could never return, as he was suspected of murder. But that was not what kept him from ever venturing back. He had made a new plan for his life and it did not include home or family or any of the other sentimental things people always went on about. He had one goal: to become the greatest enchanter the world had ever seen. He traveled miles upon miles, searching every corner of the world for anything that would make him more powerful. He traveled with magical gypsies, learning their secrets and tricks. He learned the powers of the mind from monks and shamans. He lived among druids and warlocks, mastering the depths of dark magic. He created and destroyed powerful enemies, making a name for himself in the underground. He lived a life in shadows, surrounding himself with the things that terrorized the night.

His new life of darkness would have been perfect if it were not for one thing: his human body. Silas was aging, just like any other human. He saw it as his only weakness. His greatest enemy. He switched his attention to new forms of magic. Magic that was darker than anything he had ever encountered before: immortality.

He watched his own burial. There was a small funeral in which all attendees were new generations of Fausts. He'd never seen any of them before, and they knew nothing of him. Only that he was a long lost relative who had a space in the family plot. He looked on at the spectacle amused, sitting high up in a tree, invisible to their eyes. He laughed at the gullible men and woman who morned over the body of some drunken homeless man he had found in the streets.

There was only one thing of meaning in that coffin, the journal which he started under the Coven decades ago. Now, no one would ever know the means by which he gained his powers, and no one could ever surpass him. With all memories of Silas Faust buried he was now free. Free to live forever, wherever he pleased.

* * *

Decades passed by incessantly. Such a lifespan made the days melt together and the years blur into indistinguishable stretches of time. A new era had arrived and Silas had become a wonder of the past. The long, endless years of dark magic had taken its toll on him. He could never have predicted the state his glory days would leave him in. He was a shadow of a man, desperately clinging onto life.

For the past several years he spent all of his days locked away in a cabin in Siberia. The bitter cold nipped away at his rough face, but the isolation made it tolerable. He had grown to hate the outside world. Instead he chose to waste away alone in the darkness. Most of his time was spent writing, keeping record of the magic he had discovered throughout his life. His books were like anthologies of the darkness that lurked beneath the surface of the world. They were only missing one thing. A thing he had buried long ago.

Silas stared intensely at the fireplace that blazed opposite the desk where he sat. The sound of the harsh winds blowing was interrupted by the unwelcome sound of footsteps. It was soon followed by the sound of screaming. Silas had set up several vicious traps for those who dared to disturb him, which weren't many.

"Who are you?" Silas barked at the intruder. It was a young man, around thirty, with long slender limbs and chestnut brown hair. Silas now had him bound to a chair with invisible straps that crushed his ribs gradually.

"My name is Lawrence. Lawrence Faust," the young man said. "I am a distant relative. The youngest of the remaining Fausts."

"What do you want boy?" Silas said menacingly. He was surprised at how well the man was standing his ground.

"I want to learn from you," he answered. "I have spent over a decade searching the world for you, seeking out anyone who could help me find you. I had heard whispers that you still walked the earth and were powerful beyond compare. I knew they were true."

"I am not a teacher," Silas remarked harshly. "Besides, what was wrong with your home training?"

"No one in the family practices alchemy anymore. They gave it up long ago," he replied, a hint of resentment trickling out of his voice. "They try to hide the fact that our family was once involved with such things. It took a great deal to uncover our family's secrets."

"We are not family," Silas said coldly. "You are just a boy who has wandered into my home uninvited. A common last name means nothing. Besides, I'm surprised through your quest to find me no one told you I do not practice alchemy. I gave that up over a century ago, you foolish boy."

"I know," the younger man said. "I was hoping you would teach me what you do practice: the Craft."

"As I said, I am not a teacher."

"It wouldn't be starting from scratch," Lawrence said. "I know many things already. I have practiced for some years. But now I want to learn more. I want to learn the dark depths of my powers."

"Oh do you? And who taught you? Some traveling magician? Or a gypsy woman?" Silas scoffed.

"I learned from an...acquaintance," Lawrence answered, unsure of how to label the person he was describing. "A Delacroix."

"A Delacroix," Silas said in disgust. "Even worse."

"I understand your hatred of them," the man said.

"And how could you understand that?" Silas responded, dubiously.

"Because I hate them too," Lawrence answered, his eyes glistening with distain. "She promised to teach me everything. To make me powerful. But she lied to me."

"If this is a love story, save it," Silas spat.

"It is not," Lawrence replied. "There was no love from my end. I only did what it took to get what I wanted. But she got what she deserved, regardless."

"This is all very dramatic," Silas said. "But I am still not interested and I won't help you. Now if you would leave before I make you leave that would be beneficial...for you."

"Won't...or can't?" Lawrence mused.

"Excuse me?" Silas growled.

"You can't, can you old man?" Lawrence began. "You are too weak. You're clinging to an empty life, aren't you?"

"Get out!" Silas roared, using his mind to tighten the straps of Lawrence's chair until they almost crushed his ribs. His outburst caused him to expend a great deal of energy. Energy he did not have.

"What if I could help you," the young man said, his tone shifting. He watched as the old man struggled to stay on his feet. But it was not with pitying eyes, but the eyes of a predator.

"And how could you help me?" Silas questioned. Though he was doubtful, there was a part of him that longed to be strong again. "Just a minute ago you were begging for my help."

"I know someone. A man in Beacon Hills who I encountered through my journey. He could help you," Lawrence explained cunningly. "I can take you to him."

* * *

Silas woke up, feeling unlike his normal self. The usual pains of old age had been replaced by a new feeling. A feeling like his body had been bent and contorted into unnatural positions. He felt like he was trapped. He had no recent memories and his normally sharp mind was groggy. Where he was and how he'd come to be there was a mystery. When he opened his eyes, at first he couldn't see. But after a few moments, the world started to fade back in. Now, he could see better than ever. He could smell and hear better too. His senses flooded him all at once, overpowering him.

He looked around the room and noticed the walls were lined with dead animals. Not the kind that were rotting away, but the kind that had been preserved. They were stuffed and mounted for display. Their dead eyes and empty expressions were inescapable.

"He's not very pretty," he heard a shaky, nasal voice say. "But he works."

"It better," a more familiar voice replied. "Considering how much I'm paying you."

"He is my greatest creation to date," the first voice replied with nervous excitement. "He might be a bit...slow...at first. He will need to be trained. You never mentioned what he was for?"

"Think of him as an attack dog," the second man said nonchalantly. Silas realized that it was Lawrence, his long lost relative. "How do I make him dance?"

"With a bit of magic and some brain rewiring I have programmed him to follow your command," the man explained, amused by his own work. "Anything you want him to do, he will obey."

"Excellent," Lawrence said, a devious smirk spreading across his face as he looked down at the creature. "Silas, attack."

Without a moment's hesitation, Silas lunged at the other man. Though his new body was foreign to him it already knew what to do as he viciously attacked. He was not able to summon enough will power to disobey the command, so he tore the man apart as he was told. The man was screaming and thrashing on the ground in pain and his left arm was torn off.

"Now Stop," Lawrence shouted. The creature stopped and stood over the man's red stained body. "Good boy," Lawrence cooed tauntingly. "I think we should work out a different payment plan," he said, staring down at the man on the floor, smirking. Then he put on his hat and strode towards the door. The man scrambled to his feet and followed Lawrence, limping as he walked. "Now stay," Lawrence turned around to say before he exited the room and locked the door, leaving Silas in the dark.

* * *

Suddenly, the memories came to the end and everyone in the room was violently snapped back to the present.

"Is anyone going to mention how insane that was?" Stiles interjected, steadying himself on the counter.

"It was quite the experience," Deaton stated.

"So this really is Silas," Isaac said, slightly bemused. It seemed like only the other day he was staring into his dug up grave, and now there he was.

"What a reversal of fortune," Deaton commented.

"More importantly that was the man who took Lydia," Clara said. "Lawrence, he's the man I saw, he has to be."

"That still doesn't tell us where he is," Scott said. "Where Lydia is."

"It might have told us more than you think," Deaton replied. He crossed over to the other side of the room where the creature's pelt hung on the wall. "Look here," he said, pointing out a specific detail on the skin. "I noticed it the other day, but wasn't sure what to think of it before now. The whole thing was sewn up, but in a very peculiar way. But what struck me was the thread used. I couldn't identify it before. It's not the kind you would use for regular sewing or the kind you would use to sew up a body. Well, not a live body."

"What are you saying?" Scott asked.

"I'm saying this kind of thread is typically used for one thing," Deaton continued.

"Taxidermy," Stiles concluded.

"Exactly," Deaton replied, examining the pelt further. "I never understood the art of taxidermy. Why would anyone want to surround themselves with lifeless animals. I guess as a veterinarian it would come as a foreign concept," he mused.

"A taxidermist who wanted to bring his creations to life," Stiles mused. "He could literally create a monster."

"What do we do now?" Isaac asked.

"I can look up every taxidermist in the surrounding area," Stiles suggested. "We could find the guy who made this...thing. He could lead us to Lawrence."

"I can look through my family's records," Clara said. "I can try to find anything on Lawrence. If he knew us, there would probably be something."

"Sounds good," Scott said. "I'll go with Stiles, Isaac you go with Clara."

In that moment Clara felt something buzz in her pocket. It wasn't the familiar vibration of her phone, which meant one thing. It must be Lydia's. Her heartbeat quickened for a second as she pulled out the phone. Was it another text from Lydia's captor?

"It's her mother," Clara said, a different type of worried look striking her face. "What should I do?"

"Tell her she's staying at your house again. But say it as Lydia," Stiles commanded. "We just need to keep everyone off our backs for a little bit longer."

"Ok, but eventually she's going to notice she hasn't seen her daughter in days. What do we do then?" Clara said.

"We find her before then," Stiles said definitively.

* * *

Lydia woke up for the second time since she had been taken. Since there was no seeing out of her small, windowless room, she had no idea how long it had been. She felt dirty and disheveled, but she could barely even focus on that considering how hungry she was. She sat up on the rickety cot she had been in for hours. While she was adjusting her body, she realized something: her chains were off and she could move freely. She stood up, stretching her aching muscles. The whole time she couldn't help but worry the man would come back into the room. What were his plans with her? Why would he untie her?

She walked around the room slowly, observing the strange stuffed creatures that lined the walls. The dim orange light cast an ominous glow on the lifeless faces. It was one of the creepiest displays she had ever seen. The fact that their eyes were always pointed at her was unsettling. If it weren't for the dust that had settled into their fur and their inanimate expressions, she might have believed they were real. She leaned in closer to inspect them. Even though they were dead, part of her was still scared that one might spring to life and bite at her. She had seen stranger things.

She moved around the room in a circle, looking at each curiosity that was perched before her. After a few minutes she found herself at the other end of the room beside the door. Something made her reach out her hands and push at the handle. It opened with her push, slowly revealing the other side. It would have seemed strange to her that her captor would leave the door unlocked, but she was zoned out completely, as if she were on autopilot. She stepped out into the dimly lit space between the door and the stairs. She didn't even flinch at how cold the concrete floor was against her bare feet. She just kept walking up the stairs.

Lydia made her way into a another room, only a bit bigger than the one she was being kept in. All of a sudden she was in control of her mind again. She wondered how she had come to be in this pitch black room. She felt up and down the wall, looking for a switch. Finally her hand came into contact with one and she flipped it upwards, illuminating the room with bright, fluorescent lights. She was in a workroom with wooden floors and wood paneling on the walls. Again were more stuffed animals, all real species this time. But they were displayed more elegantly, unlike the basement which must have been for storage. She looked around the room, stopping at the large desk that was in the middle of it. She approached the desk and noticed the way in which the tools were strewn across it. It looked like someone was in the middle of working, but judging by the layer of dust that covered the tools, they must have suddenly abandoned it. She drew a small line in the dust with her index finger and then wiped it off on her top.

As she looked up from the desk she noticed a large chest sitting against the wall. Something compelled her to stroll up to the chest. There were no locks on it, just two latches that she easily undid. The lid was heavy as she lifted it up, revealing, to her horror, a dead body. It's skin looked as though it had been preserved with the same chemicals used on the animals. It was missing an arm and its eye sockets were rotted out. Lydia gasped loudly as she slammed the chest shut.

"I see you've found Mr. Sylvester," a voice said from behind her, causing Lydia to jump. Her heart was beating loud and fast, and she was worried she might have angered her captor.

* * *

**Till next week! Leave a comment :)**


	22. Psycho

**Hi everyone! So sorry it's been so long, I couldn't get into the writing mood :(**

**But now I'm back with a brand new chapter! Picks up right where we left off...**

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**Chapter 22: Psycho**

"I... I wasn't... I was just," Lydia stammered.

"I personally don't frequent down here," the man said. "I find it all a bit...creepy," he said with a devious smirk. "Let's go upstairs, it's time for dinner."

He held his arm out towards Lydia, gesturing for her to take it. She hesitated for a moment before she complied. The man lead her up another level of stairs into the small apartment that was above the shop. The paint on the walls peeled in arbitrary patterns and the ceiling was stained with dark water spots. It was the only place in the building that wasn't covered with lifeless animals. The man pulled out a wooden chair with a faded pink cushion from the small table that stood near the kitchen. The food was already set on the table and an empty plate was placed before her. She stared at the food, not touching it even though she was starving.

As the man was focusing on serving himself, Lydia noticed the light coming from the small window on the opposite side of the room. The view outside the window was obstructed by a brick wall. Immediately her brain began to tick. She wondered what was outside the building? How high up were they? Was there a fire escape? She looked away from the window as not to appear as if her gaze was lingering.

"You're not planning an escape, are you?" the man said, an amused look glinting in his eyes. "You probably could flee through the window without getting seriously hurt, but that would take a lot of skill. Not that you could even get out of the window in the first place, considering how many barriers I have in place."

Lydia didn't respond, instead she stared directly at her plate.

"I always imagined a conversation with a genius would be less dull," he added before taking a bite of his food. Then he looked up at her, his expression changing from disappointed to curious. "So what has the young Delacroix girl been teaching you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Lydia stated.

"Oh please, I know she's been teaching you her little parlor tricks," he said. "Please, show me." He stared at Lydia with an expression that assured her he was not going to ask nicely again.

Lydia reached for the napkin that was placed in front of her. She unfolded it and spread it out on the table. Then, she shut her eyes tightly for a moment, concentrating on her next move. As she opened her eyes, the napkin slowly levitated inches above the table and began to fold itself. Soon it was an origami crane that fluttered its wings gracefully as it flew in circles around the table. After a few moments, the crane suddenly dropped out of the sky as if it had died mid-flight, landing in a pot of gravy. Lydia stared sharply at the man across from her.

"Sorry," he said with a tinge of faux innocence as he smirked at the girl. "I couldn't help myself."

"Why are you doing this?" Lydia asked, looking her captor in the face. "You already have the Orb. What else do you need? Why not just open it now?"

"I didn't realize this was the part where I spill my master plan to my hostage," the man answered, taking another bite. "I told you already. Ransom."

"But why drag it out," Lydia began. "Why keep me here as your little dinner buddy? Why not make the trade now."

"Someone's getting impatient," the man replied. "Maybe it's time to make a call."

He pulled out a small, black flip-phone and began to dial. The phone only rang once before it was picked up.

"Lawrence," the voice on the other end said. Lydia could tell it was Clara, even though she could barely hear her.

"You know my name," Lawrence began. "I'm marginally impressed. Listen, your friend is not being that great of a house guest. She seems a bit...bored."

"Where is she?" Clara demanded.

"Still haven't found me I see. I thought I'd up the stakes a bit and make this more fun for her," Lawrence continued. "If you don't return my beast within the next twenty four hours, I'll make a new one." As he said these last words he focused his eyes on Lydia. "This one will be much prettier."

With the push of a button, he hung up the phone, cutting off the conversation.

* * *

Clara and Isaac stood in the middle of the Delacroix library hoping they would find something useful, fast. The room was overwhelmed with books that sprawled up the tall shelves and piled on the floor. Finding a place to start was daunting, they needed to narrow their search.

"Do you really think we'll find anything about Lawrence here?" Isaac wondered.

"I hope so," Clara answered, sounding weary. Without saying a word, she held out both of her hands and closed her eyes. "Lawrence Faust," were the only words Isaac could catch as she recited a short chant. All of a sudden a wind of papers and books began to swirl around them, collecting on the ground at their feet. There wasn't much, but at least there was something. Clara sat down on the floor, Isaac following her lead. She picked up one piece of paper and began to read aloud.

"This is from a school paper. '1994, Beacon Hills student Lawrence Faust awarded prestigious prize in chemistry' why would we even have this?" she said frustratedly, tossing it aside.

Isaac shrugged in response as he picked up a small leather book with a latch on it that looked like a diary. "Wait, here's more," he said as he flipped through the pages. Glued to each one was an article cut out from a newspaper. "They're all about him and science stuff. Like someone clipped them out to save them."

"But who would even care?" Clara mused.

"Lawrence told Silas he was learning magic from a Delacroix girl. Maybe this belonged to her," Isaac pondered as he handed her the diary. Only about a third of the diary was used, the rest were just blank pages. As she came towards the end, she noticed another piece of paper fall to the floor. She picked it up, holding it delicately between her fingers. It was a photograph, stained yellow with age. Clara fell silent as she traced every detail of it with her eyes.

Isaac shifted closer to her, looking over her shoulder at the black and white photograph. It was taken outside, in the garden behind the house. The magic that disguised the house was gone and it stood tall behind them with all of its splendor. There were several people in the picture, all standing shoulder to shoulder. They looked pleasant and posed, like the picture had been set up meticulously. There were five people in the picture, two young men and three young women. Four of them were clearly related, having that same Delacroix look that was present in Clara and her grandmother. But the last woman on the end stood out. She had long, wavy dark hair and dark eyes. She was beautiful in a way that differed from the fair haired Delacroix girls. The man who stood next to her had his arms wrapped around her, drawing attention to her pregnant stomach.

"Those were my parents," Clara said softly as she stared longingly at the picture. "I rarely get to see pictures of them. My grandmother tends to lock that part of the past away."

"She's different than I expected," Isaac said, referring to her mother.

"I don't really take after her," Clara answered. "I look exactly like my dad I guess."

"What was her name?"

"Lorena. She was Spanish," Clara said as she turned the photo over. Written in the right hand corner in faded cursive were the words 'Delacroix family, Spring, Nineteen-Nin-'

"That's strange," Isaac said as he read the back. "It cuts off. You can still see half of the 'e' in ninety."

Clara inspected the picture closer. She noticed that the edge on the right side was slightly less refined than the left. "Someone's cut it. Why?"

"Can you bring it back?" Isaac asked.

"Maybe," she said. She grabbed the empty diary and opened it to a blank page. She placed the picture on the paper, leaving space before the edge of the picture that had been cut off. She waved her hand above it, and as she did so, the white paper began to bleed black and grey. Slowly a picture began to form as the ink that came out of nowhere stained the surface of the page. "Lawrence," Clara gasped as his face became clearer. He looked to be about 18 or so and his arm was wrapped around the shoulder of a girl who looked the same age.

"That must be her," Isaac said. "But why was she erased."

"I don't know, but I've never seen her before," Clara explained. "Not even in the family tree."

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Lydia's phone buzzing. She jumped a little before she began to dig through her bag for it.

"Lawrence," she said.

"You know my name," the voice on the other end began. Then, after a few threatening words, he hung up.

"Dammit!" Clara cried as the line went dead.

"Twenty-four hours," Isaac mumbled to himself in disbelief.

"We've barely found anything," Clara said.

"Maybe Stiles and Scott have had better luck," Isaac hoped.

* * *

"So we know that the guy who made the creature was a taxidermist," Stiles began as he stared intently at the monitor of his computer. "And that's about it."

"If we find him, he might be able to tell us where Lawrence is hiding out," Scott replied. "Are there any taxidermist shops downtown? Maybe Lydia is being kept there like we thought."

Stiles typed furiously on his keyboard before answering. "Ok, here's one possible lead. It's deep downtown. Past where we were looking. You know, that area that's kind of run down."

"Click on the site. Does it have anything about who owns it?" Scott asked.

"Yeah," Stiles replied after clicking around. "Its run by a Wilfred Sylvester. Worst name ever. Here's a picture. Oh my god this guy looks like a total creeper."

"Do you think it's the same guy? We couldn't really see him in Silas' vision, but I think I might be able to recognize his voice if we got him to speak in person," Scott added.

"It's worth a try. We don't have much time to waste. I think he'll understand if we don't call first," Stiles said as he got up from his chair. "Let's go."

It was not long before they were standing in downtown Beacon Hills once again. The boys ditched Stiles' Jeep and proceeded to walk the rest of the way towards Sylvester's shop. As they got closer to their destination the city began to turn from nice office spaces to sketchy alleyways. Most of the shops and apartments on this side of town were closed and boarded up. The ones that weren't couldn't possibly have been in much better shape.

"I hate this part of town," Stiles said with a shudder as they walked down the dark streets. "It's like someone drew a line and said 'anything past 32nd street is reserved for crack dens and-"

"Taxidermy shops," Scott interrupted, as his eyes found what they had been searching for. It was one of the few shops on the street with an "open" sign hanging out front.

"Ok so what's our plan? Are we just going to walk in?" Stiles asked, trying not to sound nervous.

"I don't know," Scott said as he surveyed the area. Something about it didn't sit right with him.

"What are you thinking?"

"This all just seems so easy," Scott mused. His thought was interrupted by the sound of Stiles' phone buzzing in his pocket.

"Hello?...What do you mean twenty-four hours!...Ok, were outside the taxidermists shop now. It's on the corner of 44th and Pierce...We'll try to get some answers...Bye."

Scott watched as Stiles paced around in the middle of the street. "Did they find anything?" he asked.

"Doesn't seem like it. Just a few things connecting Lawrence to her family, which we already knew," Stiles said exasperatedly.

"We don't have much time," Scott stated. "We need to just go in there and see what we can find."

"Ok, let's do this," Stiles said as he followed closely behind Scott into the unknown shop.

"Hello," Scott called out as he looked around the main lobby of the shop. The place was cramped and cold. The walls were lined with stuffed animals and mounted heads.

"This is giving me serious 'Psycho' vibes," Stiles whispered as he looked around the place. "He's probably watching us through some peep hole right now."

"Will you stop," Scott snapped. "Mr. Sylvester?" he called out, hoping he would be returned with an answer.

"Ok, maybe he's not here," Stiles said.

"Wait," Scott said, pausing for a moment. His expression became one of serious concentration. "How would you describe Lydia's smell."

"Ugh, I don't know. Vanilla with a hint of grapefruit and kind of floral with a sophisticated edge? Why?" Stiles described.

"That's what I'm picking up," Scott answered, giving his obsessive friend the look. "I think she was here."

"Well, by all means," Stiles said, frantically gesturing for his friend to lead the way.

The two boys walked past the rows of staring, glassy eyes as they followed the scent. It lead them into a back room that was dark and windowless. Stiles felt up the wall, searching for a switch. After a few moments of eerie darkness, he finally managed to illuminate the room. It looked like Mr. Sylvester's workroom, as it was covered with tools and materials. There was something odd about the state of the room, like it had been frozen in time.

"Lydia," Scott called out.

"Uh, Scott," Stiles said, as he stared into a large chest that leaned up against one of the walls. Scott joined him to look, disgusted by what he saw. Mr. Sylvester, preserved like one of his creations and shoved in the box.

"I was only kidding about the "Psycho" vibes but now I'm not so sure," Stiles muttered.

"We need to find Lydia before..." Scott said, unable to stand the thought of that happening to her.

* * *

Lydia watched in disgust as Lawrence sat opposite of her, eating a large slice of chocolate cake like he was at a dinner party. He had forced her to sit at the table with him for what felt like hours, making her suffer through idle chat and show him her tricks. Her head had begun to ache from all of the mind-power she was using. She was in the middle of tying one of the silver spoons in a knot when the sound of beeping began to fill the air, stealing away Lawrence's attention.

He got up from the table and approached a computer that was perched on top of a shelf. He pulled up a program that was running a few windows of black and white videos. From her distance, Lydia could barely make out two shapes moving around on one of the screen.

"Well that was fast," Lawrence taunted as he watched Scott and Stiles on the monitor. "They must really like you."

A rush of emotions hit Lydia all at once. She was happy to see them, knowing they had come to rescue her. But she was also worried. Worried about what he might do to them, or to her. As she watched him he could tell he was getting angry, but was trying to remain composed.

"I have to admit, they aren't the friends I was hoping for," Lawrence said.

"What are you going to do to them?" Lydia asked.

He leaned in towards her, his mouth practically brushing against her ear, making her cringe. "You showed me your magic, now you get to see mine."

* * *

"Let's get out of here," Stiles said as they both headed for the door. Once they were but an inch away from it, it slammed hard in their faces. Stiles reached for the knob and began to pull at the door frantically. His eyes widened in shock as his last pull resulted in the knob popping clear off. They were trapped. "Someone must know we're here,"

"Maybe I can break it down," Scott said.

Stiles moved out of the way as Scott rammed his body into the door with all of the force he could. The door wouldn't budge.

"Dammit!" Scott yelled as he violently pounded on the door.

"S-S-Scott," Stiles said, tapping his friend on the shoulder. "You might want to turn around."

As Scott turned around, he was met with a pair of shiny eyes staring blankly at him. The lifeless grizzly bear that had once been displayed was now standing in front of the two boys, backing them up against the wall, gritting its teeth with rabid anger.

* * *

**Ooh, cliff hanger!**

**Thanks so much for sticking with this story. Make sure to leave a comment!**


	23. Deal

**Hi Everyone! It's a short one today.**

**It's so funny to me how I wanted to finish this before season 3 started, and now the finale is only a few days away, lol!**

**But, it's been a lot of fun (and sometimes a lot of stress) writing this and it's starting to come to its end. I'm so appreciative for the positive response you all have given me! Thanks so much :)**

* * *

**Chapter 23: Deal**

"Death by stuffed animal," Stiles panted out as he backed further into the wall, hoping he would suddenly have the power to walk through it.

By now Scott had transformed, barring his teeth and claws at his predator. He howled loudly, trying to intimidate the animal, but it showed no sign of fear. The bear charged towards him furiously, clawing at his face. Scott threw it off of him, sending it straight into the wall. That just made it angrier. It growled in Scott's face, displaying all of its sharp teeth. It lunged again and Scott tried to leap out of the way, but he wasn't fast enough. The bear caught him in its teeth, piercing his skin and dying his shirt red. It then threw him across the room, sending Scott crashing into the desk that stood in the middle of the room. The desk collapsed from the force, causing everything to fall to the floor. The fall broke several of Scott's rib's and he could barely get back up. The bear then turned its attention toward Stiles, who was trapped in a corner between two shelves. It dropped down to all fours and began to slowly crawl towards the boy, its eyes crazy with rage.

All of a sudden it released a shriek of anger, pulling its attention away from Stiles. Stuck in its neck was a sharp knife Scott had managed to nail it with. The bear stumbled backwards, falling to its knees besides Stiles, who was then able to run from out of the corner he was trapped in. He joined Scott by the wreckage of the desk and helped him up.

The bear struggled to get back up, but not for long. After a few moments it stood back up on its legs, towering above Scott and Stiles. It ran towards them, this time more furious than ever. The two boys split, jumping out of the bears way in opposite directions. The bear was not able to stop before it collided head first into a tall bookshelf. The whole structure came down on the bear, trapping it under the weight.

"We need to get out of here before it gets back up," Stiles cried frantically.

"Well, what do you suppose we do!" Scott yelled back.

Stiles picked up some of the tools that had fallen off of the desk after it collapsed. "Maybe we can unpick the lock from the inside."

"We don't have time for that," Scott said as he watched the bear struggle under the bookshelf. "We're just going to have to break it down."

Scott backed up to the opposite side of the room. Taking a running start, he threw himself into the door with all the force he could. Right as he was about to hit the door, it flew open. He crashed into the wall outside the door, sliding down to the floor. As he looked up he saw a figure towering over him.

"I heard your call," Isaac said as he looked down at Scott, extending his hand.

"We think Lydia was here," Scott answered as Isaac helped him up. "Her scent led us into that room."

"Clearly someone was trying to keep you from coming out," Clara replied.

"Yeah, I'm guessing it's the same guy who didn't want the taxidermist to answer any questions," Stiles said.

"What do you mean?" Clara asked.

"We found him in that room, stuffed in a box," Stiles replied with a shudder. "Preserved."

"So there goes plan A," Isaac said.

"Do you think there's any chance she's still in here? Are you still picking up a scent?" Clara asked.

"Yes, it's leading up the stairs," Scott responded.

"If she's here, then Lawrence is probably here too," Clara said, as she looked up towards where the wooden staircase led.

The group began to climb the stairs, Scott leading the way. They tried to step as lightly as they could but the floorboards creaked underneath their feet. Each sudden noise had them all on edge. As they approached the top of the stairs they were met by an old, wooden door with chipped paint. They were nervous to find out what was on the other side.

"I hear something," Isaac whispered, leaning his ear against the door.

He reached for the handle of the door, Scott close behind him, claws splayed just in case there was an attack. Isaac thrust the door open, revealing a small apartment. There was a sigh of relief in the fact that it was just an empty room, no immediate threats imposing on them.

The walls of the room were covered in peeling paint and water spots. There was an old, pink couch sitting in the middle of the room that was covered in plastic. On the other side of the room stood a table that was covered with dishes and food.

"Strange," Stiles said as he observed the table. "It's all still warm."

"She was definitely in here recently," Scott said, sniffing around the room.

"Maybe they're still somewhere in the building," Isaac proposed.

"I don't think so," Clara said. She was looking at a monitor that was running several windows of security camera footage. She could see herself in the room looking at the screen, the three boys behind her. All of the other windows were void of any activity.

"Where could they have gone?" Isaac wondered. He noticed the open window on the other side of the room and strolled over to it. He stuck his head out of it, looking down at the ground beneath the building. It wasn't a long way down and there was a fire escape, but something still seemed off. "There's no scent leading out of here."

"But there's no other way out besides the stairwell we just came through," Stiles added.

* * *

"I told you, I don't know how this could have happened," Melissa told the police man questioning her as calmly as she could.

"Wasn't someone watching her?" the officer asked.

"Of course, but- "

"But clearly someone wasn't doing their job, because we have a missing patient," the officer said, condescendingly.

"Are you saying this is my fault?" Melissa asked, her frustration growing more and more.

"No, ma'am, I'm just wondering how an elderly woman in a coma manages to escape her room without anyone noticing, that's all," he replied.

"Well, I told you, I don't know," Melissa said earnestly.

"Ok ma'am, I think that will be all," the officer said as he flipped closed the small notebook he was jotting down her words in and walked away.

Once he was gone, Melissa began to walk down the hallway, acting natural. When she was sure no one was watching her, she ducked into a closet and closed the door tightly. She whipped out her phone and began to dial.

"Scott? It's me," she whispered into the speaker.

"Mom, this isn't a great time-" her son replied.

"Clara's grandmother is missing," she said.

"What? How could she be missing? She's comatose!"

"She's just...vanished," she stated. "They've been searching for her everywhere. There's not even any sign of her on the security footage. There's no way she could have just left on her own. Not in her state."

"He must have taken her too," Scott said, his voice dropping off.

"What? Who must have taken her?"

"Mom, I gotta go, but if you see anything strange, call me, ok?"

"Ok," Melissa said. Then the phone went dead.

* * *

"He has her," Clara said between heavy breaths. Her mind was racing and she could barely see straight.

"It's ok, we'll find her," Isaac said. He held both of her shoulders, trying to comfort her.

"That's what you said last time," she cried, tears starting to roll down her cheek.

"Here, sit her down, she might have a panic attack," Stiles said, ushering her towards the couch. "Just keep breathing."

Amidst her fogginess, she barely noticed that Lydia's phone began to ring again. Once the sound registered, it pulled her out of her daze. She reached into her pocket for the phone, answering it once more.

"Hello," she said, trying to keep her voice from shaking.

"I don't like being ambushed," the cold, emotionless voice said. "I didn't think you could find me. I'm mildly impressed."

"What do you want with my grandmother?" Clara demanded.

The voice on the other end was silent for a second before replying. "I guess you technically found me. Now, if only your friends hadn't kept so much noise, you might have actually caught me too. But, since a deal's a deal, I guess we can make that trade now. What's mine for what's yours. I'll send you the directions. Come alone."

"I'm not coming alone," Clara protested.

"Then don't come at all," Lawrence replied. Then, with the push of a button, the call ended.

* * *

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